


Life During Wartime

by frogfarm



Series: Faith the Vampire Slayer [2]
Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (1992)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-02-07
Updated: 2009-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-02 18:29:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frogfarm/pseuds/frogfarm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Season 7 of Buffy with some twists, leading into Faith the Vampire Slayer proper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

_Get It Done_

 From the day he left, Willow knew the Oz-shaped hole in her heart would never quite heal; losing Tara only made that lesson more true, another wound joining the old in an odd camaraderie of grief. She figures it's her fate, for whatever reason, to lose everyone she loves twice, and so either she didn't love Kennedy or they weren't together long enough for a second time.

 Not to diminish in any way from altering Tara's memories -- it still makes her cringe, the line that crossed and everything that followed -- but draining the young Potential's essence to aid in opening the portal was more an instinctive reaction than a deliberate decision. Instead of guilt, the aftermath merely leaves her empty. If Tara had been there, to see what she'd done to Warren, the look on her face would have been far worse. And Willow can't even feel properly ashamed of what she's done.

 She wants to go to her empty, huge room and curl up with the ghosts, but she leaves the closed door behind, trying to look appropriately together as she walks down the hall. She's been wanting to talk to Xander for a while and this is as good an excuse as any, especially when he's just --

 "Packing."

 "Huh?" He doesn't look caught in the act, just confused as ever as he stands by the bed with an open duffel bag. He holds up a shirt in each hand for her inspection.

 "So, the light, or the dark? 'Cause they say dark's better for interviews."

 She almost doesn't have a comeback. "Xander -- are you evil?"

 "Well, you could always poke me." He has the decency to blush. "You know -- to test for corporealness. And the flaky goodness of being _so_ been there and done, with all of that."

 She pokes him in the shoulder, not too hard, though she can't match his smile. "But you are."

 A shadow moves over his face. "Buttery like a croissant?"

 "Packing." She pokes a little harder, for emphasis.

 "Well, you can only carry so much stuff. And since the single suit I own is the one I made the biggest mistake of my life in --" He looks around, lowers his voice. "I figure one good shirt is all a body needs."

 She sits on the bed, because her feet are tired. From the sound of it he's the one in more of a pacing mood anyway.

 "Is this the pre-emptive kind of packing, or the kind where you're just... running away again?"

 It's the first honest laugh she's heard from him in longer than she cares to remember.

 "Don't blame you for jumping the gun, but don't worry. I'm here for the long haul." He stuffs the dark shirt into the bag. "Plus, lack of material possessions equals less time packing. When the time comes, we'll be ready to bug outta town in the proverbial flash."

 She folds her arms, trying for resolve over petulance. "And this sounds a lot like the kind of leaving where --" Her voice almost gives out. "Where you don't come back."

 "From Sunnydale, Will." His smile is shaky but real. "Planning on as few casualties as possible, here. And firmly in the not-voting Xander off the island camp."

 She almost tenses when he sits down beside her, but when her head naturally descends onto his shoulder it's already too late. His arm feels as right around her as anything ever could, she should be issuing all kinds of disclaimers and god, what if Kennedy walks in? But even this doesn't cause the faintest ripple of discomfort, and her normally chatty subconscious falls silent.

 He shifts a little, easing back into her like he belongs there.

 "Yeah, when I found out my parents skipped town I figured it was high time to do that old boogie magic and hightail it out of here. After we finish the job, of course."

 She wants to sit up to see his face, but this embrace is too much to let go after so long. And he isn't sounding tired or careworn or world-weary, or like he's making a joke so he won't have to feel any of those things.

 "When did they leave? Or, I guess -- when did you notice?"

 She feels the tiniest shrug, barely enough to move her. "Stopped by last week on this wild random whim. Whole place was cleaned out, dog dish and all." He doesn't even sound bitter at this final act of abandonment. "Didn't find any overly suspicious stains, so I'm thinking they got out okay."

 Xander's father is just the sort of man who should meet a demon, or so she used to think. "Might be the smartest thing they ever did." She raises her head and captures his eyes. "Besides having you."

 He offers a rueful grin. "I'll ignore that questionable judgement and settle for a heaping helping of thank you. With a generous side portion of the same to you, and more of it."

 His lips touch her cheek and her heart quickens just a beat before settling back to the methodical rhythms of contentment. Later she will remember this moment and want to cry, tear her heart right out of her chest. Right now it's perfect.

 When she calls in the morning, her mother's number is disconnected.

**


	2. Chapter 2

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Current music:** | Xena - Amazon Pyre / Drinking Blood  
---|---  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fanfic](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/fanfic), [ftvs](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/ftvs)  
  
  
_ **Life During Wartime 2 - Storyteller / Lies My Parents Told Me** _

Since you've all been so patient -- second installment right away, no delay.

_Storyteller/Lies My Parents Told Me_

 Willow still thinks it wasn't necessarily a bad idea to try the big Meaningful Talk in a public area. Not that she's ever been a fan of airing one's dirty laundry, but there are trust issues to consider, and it's not as if they're trying to draw attention to themselves, or even look like they aren't trying to. It should make it easier that Andrew no longer hovers like a particularly annoying mosquito, offering running commentary and non sequitors. But there's the little issue of the talk itself not going well; the memory of Xander and his confusion as he tried to explain himself on camera (and she doesn't think she can kill Andrew nicely, if he interferes) makes her halting efforts to reach out to the younger woman feel even more awkward.

 She understands Kennedy's fear, in an abstract, Jello-y sort of way. Still, it's not enough having seen everyone around her discover that the only thing between them and the monsters they fight is a reason. Whether it matters, of course, being immaterial.

 At the time, it's always a good reason.

 She watches her now ex-girlfriend walk away, shoulders very much not slumped in defeat; no doubt headed for the back yard to train with Chao-Ahn while it's still light. The two have been sharing some subtle but obvious rapport these past few days, language barrier notwithstanding. Whatever it is doesn't feel tawdry or reboundy, or seem to register as vaguely romantic even to the other Potentials, whose gossipometers have been mainlining well into red. Kennedy just seems to have noticed the other girl's fear and isolation, and is trying to reach out in the only way she knows how. It doesn't seem fair that it's not enough, that the princess can't just awaken Willow with a kiss and have everything else somehow work itself out.

 The house feels like it's shrinking every day, as ever more Potentials arrive in preparation for war. She and Tara had made a home in this place, for a time, and the thought of leaving twists her stomach in shapeless knots despite the overhanging pall of grief that clouds those joyful memories. Far more than the house she grew up in, this is the place she knows and loves every last inch of, this island of sanity in a fairy-tale town. They've fought to hold this ground for so long that to abandon it smacks not merely of retreat, but defeat. Her resentment too, builds with each demand for a fresh exercise of power, as though she hasn't spent months feeling as though she were being asked to purge herself of everything that had made her _something_. But Buffy is back and in charge; their own need for a leader brought her back from the dead, and the idea of dying for her best friend in turn is both romantic and stupid. Although eminently fair.

 She freezes in the doorway to Buffy's room as the Slayer looks up from where she sits, cross-legged on her bed. Sweatpants and tank top hang on her friend's body like a scarecrow's rags; irregular meals and the stress of the last two years have burned away the last vestiges of baby fat, leaving whipcord muscle over an angular frame the Slayer seems ever more reluctant to expose.

 "Hey."

 "Hey, Will." Her friend's eyes appear almost bruised from lack of sleep, but Buffy sounds emotionally available, if not overly optimistic. She waves vaguely at a stack of official-looking documents before her on the bed.

 "I was just going through some of the paperwork. For the house."

 Willow cranes her neck to see before remembering there's no reason not to just walk over and look. As if there weren't all these years of history between them, these weighty unspoken things that make her settle for staying put.

 "Insurance stuff?"

 Buffy nods, looking comically grim or grimly comic. Either is better than grim. "Insurance, title, mortgage...the works." Willow must look more surprised than she feels, because that's definitely an eye roll. "I know, you're wondering when the First replaced me with Preparedness-Girl, so -- pinch me."

 Sitting on the bed she feels weight that isn't hers, smells freshly-showered woman. She pinches Buffy anyway, as casually as possible, suppressing a wince at how thin the Slayer's arm feels. "I have to admit. It does seem kind of..."

 "Well, Xander thought it'd be a good idea. If we have to leave -- you know. In a hurry."

 "Yeah, we -- we talked about that. But, I don't want to talk about that." She nearly stumbles, cursing her inadequate tongue. "I mean...I came to ask if you would, um --" So careful not to sound desperate, for power or love. "Would you help me, um, meditate again?"

 The Slayer's smile is crooked but genuine. "Thought that was supposed to be a solo act."

 "This is different. Like when we were growing my skin back, after..." She knows Buffy is far from squeamish, and yet it's like they're reading each other's minds again. "Uh, the demon and the really creepy thing that we don't need to go into detail about, ever again. And with way lower ick factor."

 Buffy's smile falls again. "Maybe tomorrow night? I promised Dawn I'd make breakfast, or something like it. And I have to get up early for work --"

 "Oh -- right. I forgot." Now that she thinks about it, she's amazed the utilities haven't been turned off. Thank heaven for small favors. "Yeah, you should, um -- work. 'Cause, we wouldn't want Xander to be the only regular income in this household, now would we --"

 "Will -- relax. Let me worry about this, okay?" Buffy's hand on her shoulder is almost frightening, so much power in that squeeze barely contained by force of will. The Slayer's voice softens, her concern not quite sufficient to offset the impact of her next words.

 "I need you to focus on the magics. Make them work _for_ us."

 "Yeah." Her gaze falls to the sheets where her hands are twisting together, disappointment writ large on her face. "We can -- um, we can do it tomorrow. It's no problem."

 Buffy says nothing as she turns and leaves and Willow cries herself to sleep very quietly, waking before dawn with a dully throbbing head. Later that day Buffy makes her put a rock in Spike's brain, which is already a sufficient value of bad before he clobbers Dawn, and even before that Giles is giving off serious aura wiggins that make her think of Buffy coming home with a face silent as stone. If his plan succeeds, whatever it is, she and Buffy won't be meditating or drinking hot chocolate with little marshmallows, or talking about anything at all.

* * *

 For all these reasons and more, she is profoundly grateful for Andrew's (as always, unexpected) interruption. It comes as she fusses over Dawn like the mother hen her mother always aspired to be, only half-hearing Kennedy and Rona voice their Spike concerns as Anya goads them into full-fledged flameyness.

 "Uh, Willow? Call for you from LA -- somebody named Fred." Andrew tilts his head, in his binary state of confused rather than all-knowing. "Guy sounds kind of effeminate."

 "I'll take it upstairs." Her feet are like sodden lead as she trudges past him, grabbing the phone and tuning out his feeble protests. The feedback from her spell has failed to coalesce into more than a vague ache behind the eyes, but it takes very little these days to make her think things she shouldn't about Andrew's innards, and whether they should necessarily stay there.

 She shuts the door behind her, walks blindly to the bed and sits down, drawing a ragged breath. Her head isn't quite spinning, but it still takes a moment to trust herself to lift the phone to her ear.

 "Hello?"

 "Willow?"

 It's not a guy -- trust Andrew to get that one wrong. "That's me. Um, who's this again?"

 "Uh, Fred? Winifred Burkle? We only met the once before, and I was kinda crazy at the time, and anyway you were only there to tell Angel that Buffy died so we didn't --"

 "Oh!" Willow does remember her, now; dressed in dirty rags, half-hiding behind Angel's towering form, the girl hadn't said more than a few words total. That soft Texan accent has been even further muted, presumably from years in LA, but the voice is unmistakably the same.

 Even down to the underlying stress. "Uh -- can I assume this isn't a good kind of call?"

 An exhausted sigh of relief. "That'd sure save a lot of time. It's about Angelus."

 "Oh." Willow feels herself swallow. "And I'm thinking not a hypothetical kind of call, either..."

 "'Fraid not." Papers rustle in the background. "I found your number in Angel's files -- figured I'd ask the leadin' expert in the field."

 "Uh, I'm flattered. I think. But, right now isn't exactly --"

 "I just need to clarify some of the ritual --" Fred's almost stammering, as though she's trying to get it all out before Willow hangs up on her. "We've got a team out now bringin' him in, and I'm sure all we need is your Cliff's notes, but there's -- other factors, to take into account."

 "Like what?" Willow steels herself for the worst but still isn't prepared for the quiet embarrassment on the other end.

 "We sorta...lost his soul."

 Something clicks and before she can blink she's grabbed a pad from the bedside table, started scribbling notes, getting all the details. Part of her rises in silent protest but she's trying not to think past the moment, striving to sound quietly reassuring.

 "Fred, believe me, it's not a problem. I can be there in a few hours. And --" _She can do this._ "It sounds like you guys can use me."

 Somehow she maintains the facade of calm in front of Buffy, only long after marvelling that she was allowed to leave without so much as a why or wherefor, let alone a when she might be back. But the Slayer has bigger fish to fry, and one psychotic ex-boyfriend at a time is more than any girl should have to deal with. Willow has done this before and she would do it again, any time, no matter the risk.

 She requisitions a rental car the old-fashioned way, hacking into the airport database. Giles has given his express permission to utilize glamours but she's uncomfortable with the idea of deceiving the innocent, and downright twitchy about wearing another's face since her time in Warren's skin. And there is the sensible, selfish part that reminds her to save such things for truly important interactions, like doctors or police, instead of resorting to a cantrip for everything under the sun. As if it's worse to deceive and rob people by magical means instead of electronic. There is more than ample time on the road to contemplate her sins and the forgiveness they demand, and yet the entire journey her head spins in a jumble of practical magic in endless planning stages.

 Coming into the city proper is an adventure in miniature, with traffic guided by emergency radio bulletins that are interrupted every so often by repeated reassurances about the end of the recent unscheduled eclipse. The thought of magic affecting the rest of the world until even the sheep look up and take notice is a more than vaguely disquieting one, as though the rotting heart of Sunnydale were reaching out to engulf the earth.

 Soon enough the Hyperion looms on her horizon, and it's time to sit in the car for a minute trying not to hyperventilate, or think about squashing the butterflies in her tummy. Just get it done.

 She can do this.

**

[[Chapter 3]](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/9069.html)


	3. frogfarm: Life During Wartime 3 - Orpheus

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Current music:** | blessed silence  
---|---  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fanfic](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/fanfic), [ftvs](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/ftvs)  
  
  
_ **Life During Wartime 3 - Orpheus** _

Today's installment: Your Angel episode.

_Orpheus_

 Brief enough to be called a vacation, if not relaxing enough, her stay in the city of Angel is relatively uneventful. Apart from Wesley's new look and disturbing feel, as well as Angel having a son, on which many more disturbing volumes could no doubt be written without touching on his advanced age or creepy aura -- then there's the only semi-strange aspect of Cordelia being genuinely _nice_, topped with the complete surprise of Faith, being here, at all.

 The impromptu tussle with some vague, indefinable evil is a bit more draining, despite its offering little beyond pretentious threats and surface glamours; the others swear up and down that her eyes only went a teensy bit black, just for a second, and more importantly she'd managed to keep from tapping into anyone nearby. Though it was more likely that none of them were powerful enough for the darkness to bother with, and thinking _that_ makes her very glad Faith was upstairs and unconscious for the battle royale.

 Of course that can't last forever, like any vacation. But Angel's gang obviously has their own apocalypse a-brewing, and having played her part it's time to head home while there's still a home to head back to.

 She knocks for courtesy's sake before opening the door regardless. It took long enough to get up the courage to do this, and it's not worth trying to figure out why before it fails.

 Faith looks all cleaned up and ready to go, dressed in her non-leather standard dark denim jacket and jeans; her hair longer than Willow remembers, tumbling past her shoulders in lush, loose curls. Fresh bruises still mar those perfect features, as well as a neck bandage the Slayer is in the process of removing. Their eyes meet and there's a second where Willow almost thinks Faith is glad, actually _happy_ to see her, until the other woman spoils it by looking away. Apparently the silence-breaking falls to her.

 "Hey." As usual, her trouble lies in keeping the flow going without committing the sin of babble. "They said you were awake again."

 "All risen and shiny." The patented poker face has made a stellar comeback, but eye contact is again being made. "Slept enough for two lifetimes by now."

 Willow thinks she can smile. It feels okay. "Thought I saw you dashing through the lobby, but I was a little distracted."

 "Join the club." Faith grimaces and cracks her neck. "Old man got him all straightened out?"

 "Close enough. In the, probably won't attack you on sight way of -- um, closeness."

 "God, ya think Angel just wanted a cheap sitter for those big Friday nights?" The Slayer's bemused smile exudes calm and horror in equal amounts. "'Cause I'm thinkin' I'd almost rather be back in the joint."

 That Willow can feel her heart sinking seems particularly lame, since she hadn't yet even made any concrete plans. "So you're...on the lam?"

 "Twelve to fifteen, served three." The smile disappears as Faith crosses her arms, looking away again. "Plus whatever they add on for the great escape."

 "Well, you can't exactly save the world from jail."

 Another attempt at light-hearted falls flat on its face; the look this gets cannot by any stretch of imagination be termed _good_. "Funny how that pesky world always needs savin'."

 "Not really."

 Faith understandably looks a little surprised, having never been exposed to full resolve face, and Willow hurries to press the advantage. "But if you wanted -- Sunnydale could really use two Slayers again. This is a pretty big evil, as evils go. And Buffy's got a lot on her plate right now. I'm sure --" This is the only lie, if not a great one, and she isn't even sure it is one. "I'm sure she'd want you on board. After all this."

  The Slayer is obviously unconvinced. "Yeah, 'cause the last time we hooked up? Real scrapbook material. Full of photographs and memories."

 "You helped Angel." It's that simple; she knows what this will mean to Buffy if push comes to shove, that her friend will be glad despite the envy that is so a part of her nature, just as she knows Faith requires no explanation of her own.

 Faith pulls a crumpled cigarette pack from one pocket as she stands, making a big production of looking inside; half-shrugging as she comes up painfully, obviously empty.

 "Lotta bad blood there. You really think throwin' me into the mix is gonna help?"

 Willow manages to sound confident. "I know you will."

 _See, that wasn't so hard_, she thinks, and then the shakes threaten to set in. Faith turns to look at her and it isn't a threat, more like the last time they were alone together except not as scary. Maybe.

 "So...you didn't even know I was here."

 "Cross my heart." Willow leaves it at that.

 "You sure?" Faith sounds deceptively casual, not entirely joking. "B didn't hear I busted out, send you to bring me in before I could do any damage?"

 "What? No! I mean, heck no!" Confusion gives way to anger before Willow remembers where she was trying to go with this.

 "Nobody knew you were out. I'm sorry we ignored you for so long. I'm not gonna use the double-you word, because I know better and it'd be kind of pointless, but...I do, sometimes. You know -- wish. That things were different."

 Faith regards her with an inscrutable look. "World is what it is."

 Willow returns her gaze unflinching. "Then let's make it different."

 She doesn't even realize she's holding her breath until Faith turns and opens the door. She lets it out in a shaky exhalation as the Slayer's voice trickles back in from the hall.

 "Then we gotta stop and buy me a toothbrush. Like, yesterday."

* * *

 The rush is already fading as she waits for Faith and Angel to finish their own Meaningful Talk. From behind they look like they're not saying a word, out on that balcony, but that's par for the course. Gunn's keeping a close eye on Connor, which she certainly supports, and Wesley is back to looking awkward while Fred bends her ear on rituals and references. She does think it's adorable, really, and the girl's brain is top-notch, but when Fred drags her into the back office she finds herself paying just enough attention to follow along. Finally she hears the increased chatter from the lobby, and excuses herself as politely as possible.

 Fred follows her out, still chattering a blue streak, and perhaps under other circumstances who knows where this could lead? Instead, she chooses to cut the girl off before anything can start. In a nice way, not a curt, cavalier one; for even at her very worst Willow Rosenberg has been nothing if not _nice_.

 The Hellmouth alone would be sufficient excuse to say her goodbyes and make a quick getaway, but she does follow through on giving Angel a hug. Because it's funny, and because someone has to, and to show that things between them are as okay as they'll ever be. Then it's like a dream, walking out of the hotel with Faith following toward the car still parked out front, and she manages to get inside and unlock the passenger door when it all hits her at once.

 She grips the steering wheel, fighting the urge to double over, offering silent thanks to anything out there listening that the spell went smoothly. Maybe it's a ray of hope yet, that she can turn this thing around, but suddenly Sunnydale looms large in her mind and with Generalissimo Buffy at the top of the heap. She knows perfectly well she will neither hide nor volunteer the re-ensouling; stretched so thin of late, the Slayer may not even remember to ask where she's been.

 "Hey." She turns to see Faith looking -- not exactly _concerned_, not quite sure. "You okay?"

 She manages a shaky nod. "Just some mojo aftershock. Been a while since I did anything that big without --" The smile stays, but barely. "I could really use something to eat. Don't suppose you're hungry?"

 Faith perks up. "Actually -- starvin'. Just realized, I ain't eaten since I got out." Her gaze falls again, one hand playing with the seatbelt. "Long as you're buyin'. Didn't exactly have time to pick up my personal effects."

 "I can get you something. I mean --" Her hands aren't shaking, so she starts the engine and checks the mirrors. "You should probably stay in the car. I can change your appearance with a glamour, if we get stopped, but --"

 The frown in Faith's voice is evident. "You don't have to --"

 "No." She concentrates on pulling out and heading for the freeway, where there will undoubtedly be a convenience store and diner. Quite possibly in the same building. "I want to. But stuff like that is -- it should be...a last resort."

 Faith's seatbelt clicks into place. "Easy way out. I got it."

 Willow looks over as the Slayer's mouth opens in an enormous yawn. Her attention is drawn back to the road by a pickup coming up fast on her left, but as it passes she's already back to brooding, dreading the shocked looks and demands for explanation. She recognizes that her rash move has so far paid off in spades: Angel with a soul is the world the way it's supposed to be, and she's almost positive that speaks for itself as far as Buffy is concerned.

 Even Xander, never the most objective when it came to vampires in general or this one in particular, would have to admit that the soul is a net bonus for the world at large; whether he'll give Faith the same consideration is another matter. Then she remembers she doesn't even know if she'll have to talk about Angel at all, and abandons this line of thought in favor of making it to the on-ramp in one piece.

 She pulls under a bank of gleaming flourescents to gas up, glancing inside the car while she extracts cash from the pump's ATM. The Slayer leans slumped against the window, pale skin like wax in the harsh light; from this angle, she almost looks dead. Willow shivers, and when she looks back Faith has shifted position, pulling the pitifully thin jacket tighter around her.

 Back in the car, she maneuvers over to the side parking lot, neatly avoiding the semi and the pair of motorcyclists. She turns up the heat and leaves the ignition running, thinking she feels eyes on her as she climbs out. Something makes her turn around, but Faith either isn't looking or has perfect timing.

 "Any special requests?" She tries to make it sound like a trip to the zoo, but her passenger looks more as though she's been asked to clean the animal cages. Willow again feels that instinctive burden of inadequacy. "Not like it's haute cuisine or anything -- probably all comes out of the same cans..."

 "Don't need the five-star treatment, Red." If they were making eye contact, Faith might sound embarrassed. "If this bad's as big as you were sayin', fast food's the best kind."

 "But is there something you want?" Faith doesn't react at all, but Willow is still compelled to add a footnote to her Freudian slip. "Um -- would like?"

 "Not really up to the big decisions just yet." The Slayer turns back around and she suppresses a wince; the bruises are already fading, but look worse than ever in the flickering light.

 "Been a while since I had a choice, okay? Surprise me."

 Willow doesn't argue as she gets out and shuts the door, setting herself on automatic to the point where she's nearly run over twice before realizing she's at the wrong end of the parking lot. She turns on her heel, stuffing her hands in the pockets of her brown fleece coat. She can tell by listening to the earth and air it's not as cold as it feels, that something is touching every living thing and sending its chill to their heart. She should be analyzing how these apocalypses of small town and big city are interconnected; collating data to report that will help them defeat the First.

 Instead, she's thinking of what to get Faith.

* * *

 The Slayer is still awake when she gets back, which she should have expected; and has tuned the radio to old-school country that sounds decidedly AM, which Willow has to admit is something of a surprise. It's a plus that she's not greeted with a guilty look when she opens the door, though the other woman does lean forward all too casually to turn it off.

 "Hold this?" Offering the larger of the two bags, Willow slides behind the wheel. "Your mini-travel kit --" She places the smaller bag on the seat between them, nodding her head to indicate the one in Faith's lap. "And your -- well, I suppose you can call it whatever meal of the day you want."

 Faith opens the bag and peers inside.

 "The burger's mine," Willow adds, trying to be helpful. Faith looks up at her with an odd expression, and she offers a weak grin. "Um...surprise?"

 Faith hands her the burger and looks back in the bag, pulling out a wrapped sandwich, styrofoam cup and plastic spoon. She unwraps the sandwich as though it might explode, and now her expression is at least somewhat readable. Willow hopes it's amusement.

 "Grilled cheese and tomato?"

 Amusement, possibly even affection. Good call, but she can't help herself. "Should I have gone more carnivorous?"

 Faith's getting that embarrassed look again. "It's cool. Don't sweat it."

 "Are you sure? If you're in the needing meat way --" She has to blush when Faith looks at her, though the Slayer appears more surprised than lecherous. "The, red meat way -- you could have a bite of mine." She blushes again as Faith glances at the still-wrapped burger she's holding out like a peace offering. "It's got cheese and everything."

 Faith sniffs the air and wrinkles her nose. "Mushroom swiss? Thanks, I'll pass." She looks down at her soup and sandwich. "Nah, this is...good. It's all good."

 Willow eats in silence, trying not to look like she's watching. The Slayer doesn't bolt her food or linger over every bite but leaves nothing behind, using the last of her crust to wipe the inside of the bowl. She looks over at the witch with a vague smile.

 "Non-kosher _and_ non-vegan? What's up with that?"

 Willow can't help a giggle as she locates her napkin. "My folks were never strict orthodox, so it's not like there's a ton of childhood conditioning to overcome. Cheeseburgers were a guilty pleasure ever since the first Christmas at Xander's." She wipes a bit of stray cheese from her chin. Good burgers are messy. "And I went through the rebellious teen vegetarian phase for about six months, but that was more to annoy my mom than save the whales."

 Faith purses her lips. "It's not like, a job requirement for the Wicca?"

 "Oh, I see what you're saying. Sure, some spells can be more potent if the caster is, um -- pure. For varying definitions of pure. But the definitions are really strict. Like, 'if you've ever ingested a single morsel of animal flesh ever forget it' kind of strict." She glances at Faith, curious. "How come the sudden interest in the dark arts?"

 "Professional curiosity?" Faith busies herself stuffing discarded wrappers back in the bag. "Figure I gotta brush up on the non-asskicking parts of the job."

 Willow decides silence is the better part of valor as Faith puts her seatbelt back on., staring out the window. Neither of them say another word until they get to Sunnydale, at which point Willow sort of regrets it because her first words on entering the city limits are _oh my God_ and what prompts them is the sight of a girl being thrown out of the truck in front of them.

 Until then, it was really sort of a comfortable silence.

**

[[Chapter 4]](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/9387.html)


	4. frogfarm: Life During Wartime 4 - Dirty Girls

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
**Current music:** | Apocalyptica - Inquisition Symphony  
---|---  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fanfic](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/fanfic), [ftvs](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/ftvs)  
  
  
_ **Life During Wartime 4 - Dirty Girls** _

In case you're not reading from the [FtVS Memories link](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=frogfarm&keyword=FtVS&filter=all), this is complete, 9 chapters total.

Today's installment: Back from LA, welcome to Sunnydale. Some dialogue taken from canon. Kennedy lovers take note -- I don't hate her, and she does get more story time later on.

_Dirty Girls_

 The staff at Sunnydale Memorial are as courteous and helpful as ever, at least to Willow. Faith's starting to get annoyed at being given the brush off until the witch shoots a warning look and a tiny shake of the head, keeping her silent if not immobile until the doctor walks away.

 _Minor glamour,_ Willow murmurs, under her breath. Faith just nods and goes back to staring through the glass.

 Why she should shoulder another burden of guilt at this point is really beyond her, but when Faith brings up the Scoobies' complicity of silence it can't be helped. None of them had thought for a moment to call and warn the Slayer, when reports of the killings first surfaced, and Willow isn't precisely sure what it says about them but she doesn't like it. She's been thinking lately how much moral slack she allows Xander; remembering how angry she'd been to finally discover the treachery that had probably cost Angel his unlife, and how little it had mattered when she was curled up in his arms.

 She draws the line when Faith wants to meet Buffy on patrol. Especially alone.

 "You told her the sitch, right?" Faith makes a sarcastic jazz hand. "She knows I'm comin'. Probably been up all night hangin' streamers."

 "Not in the strictest sense. At least, not the first part." The Slayer cocks an eyebrow, and Willow hurries on. "I don't want to mention the Angel thing, 'cause Buffy really doesn't need a distraction like that right now. And I'm not asking you to hide anything from her. But unless she asks --"

 Faith shakes her head. "Pretty much with you there. B don't exactly see straight when it comes to the big guy. But I can't stay here, Will." Something flickers in her eyes. "Spent way too much time in hospitals. We don't click."

 Willow flounders for a second before noticing the doctor walking back toward them. She's already clouded his sight and it only takes a smidgen more for him to accept her ID without question, as well as her claim to be the girl's cousin. The fact that Willow didn't even know her name -- Shannon -- until the doctor himself said it never enters his mind. Faith watches silent from the shadows as the guy assures Willow that yes, someone on staff will call right away if she wakes up, now you ladies have done enough and why don't you go home, try to get some rest.

  In fact, the Slayer remains silent all the way out to the car. Some part of Willow wants a confrontation, maybe, or it's that one feels inevitable with someone and why not sooner than later? But Faith just gets in and straps down. As they pull out of the parking lot Willow thinks conflict may not be forthcoming after all.

 "So how's Dawnie?"

 Willow's brain processes the words before the jump reflex kicks in, but it takes a moment to regain equilibrium. "I was just gonna ask if you remembered her, so -- guess that answers that question."

 "Well, sure." Faith gives her a puzzled frown. "Why wouldn't I?"

 She hits cruise control, eyes on the road. "There's what we like to call an amusing anecdote about that..."

* * *

 The house is in near-complete darkness when they arrive, but Willow can see Giles through the kitchen window. There's no luggage for Faith to help with and the Slayer looks like she wants to put her hands in her pockets, cross her arms or any of a thousand things that aren't just standing there like an idiot. Willow just walks in like she lives here, because she does, and sweeps right into Giles' arms, soapsuds and all. He's even wearing the demeaning pink apron of doom -- double endearment points.

 Faith takes advantage of the distraction to slip in and shut the door, but when she turns round she's met by a glaring Dawn, sitting at the kitchen table and surrounded by homework which is no doubt contributing to the glare. Willow releases Giles with a not-too guilty smile, and though he doesn't remove his glasses at the sight of Faith he does start drying his hands in an awfully officious manner.

 She tries to read his aura without being obvious, settling for sounding as chipper as possible. "Meet our new house guest."

 "Hey." Faith manages to sound upbeat as she nods at Giles. "Got a spare bed for a wanted fugitive?"

 _Now_ the glasses come off, but his voice remains almost neutral. "Hello, Faith."

 The Slayer shrugs, taking this in stride. "Well, I guess 'wanted' wasn't really accurate."

 Dawn stands, folding her arms across her chest. "Does she have to stay here? Because there's some nice hotels that welcome 'tried to kill your sister' types."

 Faith just smiles. "Check it out. Brat's all woman-sized."

 "Don't worry. I won't make trouble." Dawn gathers her books and papers with dignified deliberation. The effect is somewhat ruined by missing stuff when she reaches, since she's busy shooting dagger eyes at Faith. "You guys probably have some big, stupid, secret grown-up plan you didn't bother to let the _kid_ in on."

 "I asked her to come." Willow tries not to quail as the angry gaze falls on her, a far cry from typical sullen teen. "She's here to help --"

 The resulting snort of disbelief is undignified as hell and all the more effective for it, and Willow is still thinking that imminent violence is a distinct possibility when Buffy walks in the door. Perfect timing, perfect reaction, stops dead in her tracks with her face completely blank. Dawn slips out of the room clutching her books while everyone's caught in their Mexican standoff, sending the obligatory final glare over her shoulder which noone notices.

 "Yo, I just wanna say one thing."

 Buffy crosses her arms as she surveys the other Slayer, who looks totally at ease. "What's that?"

 "I did _not_ teach her to shoplift."

 Buffy's angry stare holds for a heartbeat before she seems to deflate. "No. Technically, I suppose you didn't." Her gaze turns to Willow, echoing reflected betrayal. "This is my good news?"

 Faith's voice hardens. "And I ain't here to apologize. I'm just here to fight -- on your side. Whatever it is you're fightin'."

 Willow intervenes before this can go further. "Buffy - we found a girl on the edge of town. Stabbed."

 The Slayer's gaze sharpens. "Potential?"

 "What are the odds?" Willow tries to smile, but it feels all grimacey. "The hospital's supposed to call if she wakes up."

 "Felt like a message," Faith interjects with a frown. "As in someone tryin' to send one."

 Buffy's eyes roll. "Whatever happened to saying it with flowers?"

 "This chap sounds more the dead roses type."

 Faith's senses scream _vampire_ but her hand freezes in mid-grab for the stake as a familiar blonde figure saunters over the threshold, obviously invited if not precisely welcome. The others are giving him hinky eyeballs a lot like the ones she's been getting, and anything that results in less attention on her should be encouraged, but instead she's flashing back to the last time she saw _him_, suddenly trying her damndest not to blush. If it were just the two of them alone she'd be cooler than a cucumber, but Buffy's presence seems to bring out the bitca in everyone.

 Except Buffy, who actually turns to him with something resembling concern. "You okay?"

 Spike looks slightly embarrassed. "Yeah, terrific. Bloody bitch made me lose my smokes."

 Faith sounds a little shocked. "B, what's up? You're _protectin'_ vamps? You the bad Slayer now?" She blinks, and Willow nearly laughs at the look on her face. "Am I the _good_ Slayer?"

 "He's with me." Buffy crosses her arms again -- how they got un-crossed in the first place, Willow has no clue. "He has a soul."

 Faith raises a single eyebrow. "So you're collectin' 'em?"

 Giles clears his throat, reminding everyone of his presence. "We'd better see if we can find some place to, ah -- squeeze you in for the night." Buffy's gaze sharpens like glass and Willow holds her breath, but Faith just goes with the flow.

 "How many girls you got here, G? And where're they all stashed at?"

 "Ashamed as I am to admit it, I've lost count." Giles' voice is neutral but his eyes narrow at her appellation, or perhaps her prepositional abuse. "We've so far been able to use the living room for a public sleeping area, but if this keeps up --"

 "You're with Willow."

 "What?" Willow is taken aback by the blunt finality in Buffy's words, but the Slayer doesn't budge.

 "You've got a vacancy, right?"

 Willow feels her face crumbling along with her resolve. "Yeah, but --"

 "Then it's settled. Giles?" He's already removing the demeaning apron, and though she doesn't say another word he simply nods and follows Buffy out of the kitchen. Everyone lets out a breath, even Spike.

 Who then, of course, tries to lighten the mood.

 "Not all that tension was about you." He nods at Faith as he opens the door to the basement. "Giles was part of a plan to kill me. For Buffy's own good."

 "Really." Faith's eyes flicker to the other door, like she expects Buffy to walk back in any second. "Well. That makes me feel better about me, worse about Giles...kinda shaky about you."

 Willow breaks in with can't-help-it concern voice. "Yeah, what about you? Any nasty aftereffects from the spell?"

 "Firstless and fancy free." The vampire's sardonic grin is friendly but none the less intimidating; Spike is not quite bouncing back and forth on his feet, obviously eager to be downstairs and away.

 Willow's about to break the silence again, but Faith beats her to it. "Any other big twists I should get the spoilers on?"

 Spike's own eyebrows raise as he glances over at Willow, standing behind the counter looking culpable to the nth degree.

 "I expect Red can fill you in." His voice is as neutral as Giles', but there's a definite hint of affection as he nods to Willow. "Evening, ladies."

 The door shuts behind him gently but firmly, like he's trying not to wake the gaggle of girls sleeping two rooms away. Willow's about to start babbling, she has no idea what, before Faith beats her to it. Again.

 "Don't matter to me. Floor's gotta be comfier'n the beds I'm used to."

 Willow offers an uneasy smile. "You could be Spike. He gets to sleep in chains in the basement."

 Both of Faith's eyebrows get some serious hang time. "No wonder B's in charge of sleepin' arrangements. Tell you what I _could_ use --" She twists her head sideways, pops something in her neck that makes Willow cringe. "Decent shower. Last one wasn't a real Calgon moment."

 "Oh, sure." Willow nods, pathetically eager to please. "I can scrounge some pillows and stuff while you're, um -- doing that."

 She's about to give directions but the Slayer just heads for the stairs with unerring accuracy like she remembers the way, or like she lives here too. Which as far as Willow is concerned she does, now, but that's neither here nor there. She gives it a few minutes before heading up, hearing running water behind the bathroom door as she makes her way down the hall.

 Flipping on the light, she busies herself making up a nest of pillows and blankets beside her bed, right about where she had set up that first night. Maybe this could all have been avoided if she hadn't cared about looking rude and made Kennedy take the floor instead. Too many memories were crowded into this room; moving in here had made her feel guilty, and happy, and guilty about being happy until she felt ready to burst. Until Tara was killed, she could almost imagine Joyce's ghost watching over them in their sleep.

 "Willow?"

 _Speak of the devil._ She berates herself for that unfairness as she turns. Kennedy hovers in the doorway, hands jammed awkwardly in the pockets of her jeans.

 "We heard you come in, but it sounded kind of nasty out there. Didn't want to get in the way.." Her eyes fall on the mass of bedding Willow has accumulated, hesitate a moment before returning almost unwillingly to the other woman. "I left some of my stuff in here -- in your room. But, you weren't here and I didn't -- I wasn't -- " She ducks her chin, spots of color blooming in both cheeks.

 "I-it's okay. I understand." All too well. "Yeah, I saw your iPod on the dresser. I can help you look for the rest, I'm not --"

 "I got it. Think it's just my earrings." Kennedy edges around her -- yes, this definitely qualifies as edging, particularly since she never takes her eyes off the redhead. "How'd the trip go?"

 Willow grimaces. "Trippy. Well -- not for me, so much. But otherwise good."

 "That's good. I just --" Kennedy looks exasperated, at herself or both of them. "Some of the girls were kind of freaking out. Wondering why you took off like that."

 "Had to help a friend in LA." She can make this sound casual; the trick is not to try. "Mini-apocalypse. Sorta my specialty."

 Kennedy appears skeptical, but lets this slide. Her eyes fall on the bedding. "New roommate?"

 Willow opens her mouth as Faith saunters in, hair still damp, jeans and jacket and flannel shirt slung over one arm; wearing only a plain white T-shirt that barely leaves her decent.

 "Hey." The Slayer nods briefly to Kennedy, who stares at her dumbstruck. "Listen, Will -- whoever's in charge of plumbing around here, make sure they know _I_ clean out the drain when I'm done. Unlike, say, the less considerate person before me."

 The younger woman's face is blossoming with complex outrage and Willow bites back a smile as she realizes who that person may have been, waiting until she can sound semi-serious. "You sure you're not taking this misplaced blame thing too far?"

 Faith snorts. "Got plenty to spare for everything I did. No sense takin' a dive for stuff I didn't." She turns to Kennedy, nods again. "I'm Faith."

 The Potential blinks, processing this. "You're the other Slayer?"

 Faith's mouth does a dainty twitch of annoyance. "That's me. Single white female."

 Kennedy looks her over critically, head to toe, before shrugging. "Anything's got to be an improvement."

 Something cold flickers in Faith's eyes. "'Scuse me?"

 "Uh --" Kennedy's obviously aware that a pissed-off Slayer isn't to be taken lightly. "Buffy just seems -- flakey. Me and the other girls were thinking it might be good to...have someone else in charge."

 Faith turns away, dumping her clothes in a heap on the floor by the makeshift bed. Kennedy frowns.

 "Look -- if I said anything to upset you, I apologize. I don't want to get off on the wrong foot. But I kind of have this habit of speaking my mind."

 The Slayer cracks her knuckles. "And a couple years back, I'da kicked your ass into a new shape for it. Lucky for you I'm all grown as a person."

 Kennedy opens her mouth again and then shuts it, thinks for a second. "Sorry. We heard you guys were like mortal enemies, or something."

 "What we are, is in charge." Faith pins her with a steely gaze. "Any personal problems you got, with anyone in this house -- we got no time for. I wake up and you're still here, I'll assume it's to help instead of bitch. But right now? I'm gettin' my beauty sleep if I gotta kill someone for it."

 Kennedy's gaze flickers to Willow just for a second before the Potential turns and makes a quick getaway, glancing nervously back at them. Willow shakes her head.

 "You didn't need to scare her. Kennedy's a good kid, she's just..."

 "A kid." Faith plops down on the pillows and stretches, working the kinks out of her back and shoulders. "Hope they're not all that snotty. Don't have a lot of practice puttin' up with rich girls."

 Over on the dresser, Willow can see the earrings Kennedy apparently forgot in all the commotion. That damned innate sense of fairness is kicking in, the kind where she feels obligated to say something nice, but all she can think of is how quickly Faith jumped to Buffy's defense. It brings back those feelings of being an outsider, not part of the Slayer sisterhood.

 She sits down on the bed, tugging listlessly at the buttons of her shirt. Faith looks up and sees her before glancing away, not making an obvious show of it, turning back and forth at the waist while she continues to stretch.

 "I should tell you --" She almost falters as Faith's eyes meet hers, all dark and intense. "Kennedy's mad at me because I tried to, um...suck the life out of her. And, because we were almost dating before that and it didn't work out, but it was going okay until that part. Well, except for when I turned into a guy --"

 "Whoa, time out!" Faith raises both hands. "I'm glad you think you can talk to me like this. Maybe even kinda flattered, but --" She frowns, eyebrows knit. "Okay, when you say 'suck the life out of her'? Are you talkin' like a vamp, or --"

 "It was magic." Her hands fold and twist in her lap like alien creatures. "I was trying to do a spell, and I couldn't do it on my own. So I just -- used her. And Dawn." She can feel Faith staring, and she drives the nail home. "I could have killed them."

 "Damn." Faith absorbs this. "Here I thought you were keepin' an eye on me. Looks more like --"

 "We're watching each other." Willow's mouth twists in a sad smile. "Buffy probably figures if I go all destroyer of worlds again, you're better equipped to deal with it than anyone else."

 Faith shakes her head. "You gotta realize -- far as I'm concerned, this just gets more bizarro by the minute."

 "Believe it." Willow knows she looks appropriately grim. "Me and magic are a dangerous combination of late."

 "What the hell happened to you?"

 Willow sounds very quiet. "My girlfriend was murdered."

 "Oh." The Slayer's face falls. "Aw, shit -- Tara, right? I was lookin' forward to the slap when I tried to apologize." She grins weakly. "Man. Next thing I know, you'll be tellin' me Joyce is..."

 Willow just stares back at her and Faith's shoulders slump as realization hits. "Jesus."

 She has no idea how long they sit like that until the Slayer finally looks away. When she leans over to turn off the lamp, her nightlight springs to life in the corner, a tiny island of cheer in an ocean of darkness.

 It's the last good sleep she has for a long time.

**

[[Chapter 5]](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/9523.html)


	5. frogfarm: Life During Wartime 5 - Empty Places

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fanfic](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/fanfic), [ftvs](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/ftvs)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Life During Wartime 5 - Empty Places** _

It's going so fast. Soon it will be over. *sniff*

Today's installment: Increasing chaos, post-vineyard. More dialogue twisted from canon (why change a winner?). Not very long, but the remaining chapters should make up for it. (Oh, and I forgot I counted two earlier episodes as one chapter, so this is 8 chapters, not 9. Dunce cap time.)

_Empty Places_

 Faith's on the front porch, ostensibly for a cigarette though she's already been through two. Mostly she's trying and failing to tune out the increasingly heated discussion inside. With Buffy and Willow rushing their wounded to the hospital before splitting up to investigate whatever they can think of, it naturally falls to her to look after the remaining Potentials. Who as it happens, don't require much actual supervision; nobody's slept a wink (and isn't _that_ a particularly winceful word) since the disastrous raid on the vineyard. But eventually the numbness will wear off and they can really start to panic.

 From the sound of things, it won't be long.

 Things were quiet until Rona got back from the hospital just before sunrise, arm in a sling, with the news that the others were waiting for Xander to regain consciousness so they could check up on him. Not that Faith begrudges this, not in a million years; but the continued absence of senior Scoobies makes the mice bold. Anya and Andrew have long since disappeared into the basement, apparently gearing up for a big lecture of their own, and before things can escalate to verbal Faith has ducked out to the porch. Doesn't make a lick of difference -- you'd think these kids would realize she can hear them at a whisper, even through closed doors, but they just rant away without a clue. Kind of endearing, if you're the sort that likes being endeared.

 "-- two girls killed? Our three heaviest hitters down for the count? That was a _massacre_ of asskicking." Rona's definitely the squeakiest wheel of the bunch. Faith's taken a bit of a shine to the girl, even if she's getting loud enough for the non-superpowered to hear from next door.

 "Yeah, and the asses were all ours." Meek and mild, far less audible; that'd be Amanda.

 "Sure, we lost people." Kennedy, surprisingly the voice of reason so far. "But we don't have to make the same mistakes. We can do better --"

 "Oh, please!" Rona's disgust is evident. "That guy was _playing_ with us. The only reason we're still alive is because he wants to make it _last_ longer!"

 "Look, I know you're upset about Diane and Molly. We all are. But freaking out isn't going to bring them back, and it's not going to help us either --"

 Faith's lips curve in a grim, involuntary smile. She's more than happy to revise her opinion on Kennedy, who might just make a decent leader yet. Whether the girl's consideration for others extends to saving hot water for the rest of the team, well -- everyone's got their weak spots.

 It's just something the others haven't learned; all brought up to believe the Slayer's at the top of the food chain, 'til someone comes along to show them different and it's time to do the headless chicken. Even before nearly getting pulverized by a walking mountain of rock, Faith knows better. No matter how bad you think you are, sooner or later you meet a bigger one.

 She's been sitting with her eyes closed, the better to concentrate on sounds both inside and out, and it takes a moment to realize the Potentials' voices are fading, hear the sound of their footsteps as they tramp downstairs. She waits for the noise to settle before heading back in, finding the living room and kitchen happily deserted.

 Scrounging a bag of chips from the pantry, she hops up on the counter to stare out the window. Anya's voice is audible from below, but the floor's too thick to make out the words without concentrating. Soon the others will be back with information, point her where they want her to go off, then stand back and watch the fireworks. Try not to get burned.

 She doesn't get to stare out the window for long before the basement door squeaks open behind her. Apparently Anya's breaking new records for losing an audience. And the most likely to skip out first is...

 "You got enough to share?"

 Like _that_ wasn't wicked obvious.

 "Trade you for a carton of smokes and some soap." She remembers where she is, turns to find Kennedy confused rather than offended. "Sorry. Habit."

 She passes over the chips, expecting the girl to hang on to her newfound booty for some time. Instead Kennedy just takes a few and hands them back, pops one in her mouth with a look like she's doing quantum something.

 "Shouldn't you be down at Hogwart's?"

 "Probably."

 Given the choice between snotty and depressed, Faith will almost always pick the one that can be solved with an asskicking. She's not qualified to play ship's counselor, and good _God_ she's already been exposed to Andrew too long.

 "Playin' hooky? Score one for the boarding school brat." Kennedy still looks mopy, and she relents a touch. "Anya's technique's probably a little different than what you're used to."

 The Potential shakes her head. "If final exams means questions about her sex life, I'm definitely having the flu that day."

 Faith can't help a grin.

 "Yeah, whenever she starts talkin' about gettin' all sweaty with Xander like that, I just remind her I had him first. Shuts her right up..." She trails off at the look on Kennedy's face. "Okay, was it the guy thing? 'Cause I gotta tell you, those women in prison movies are way overdone --"

 "He came back for me." Kennedy stares out the window like she'll see something Faith couldn't, one lone forgotten chip clutched in her hand. The Slayer frowns.

 "Preacher man?"

 "Xander. He --" Kennedy stares at the countertop. "I was down, and he came back for me. And then Caleb --" She swallows, hard. "I hope he's okay."

 A shiver passes through Faith, fading to cold, quiet anger in the pit of her stomach. "Me too."

* * *

 Buffy does bring back information; unfortunately, it's the kind that requires yet more research instead of cutting to the chase. Kennedy's lack of tact soon after ends up driving her out of the house, though that's a net positive since it allows Dawn and the others to come back and help research instead of making lame excuses to be anywhere Buffy isn't. Faith has never seen the other Slayer look so beaten, and she throws herself into the mountain of paperwork with a vengeance, in search of anything that might shed the slightest light on their quarry.

 Stealing Andrew's lunch is a temporary diversion, not to mention evil, albeit of the minor and indulgent sort. Still, she thinks it's best to save cold turkey for the big stuff. It's enough that she feels guilty about it, at least until the kid whines once too often and Giles sends him off with Spike on some reconnaisance mission or another.

 Giles is less sanguine when she suggests taking the Potentials out on the town, but to Faith it seems like just what the doctor ordered. A chance for the girls to blow off some steam, be a little merry. Under supervision, of course.

 Naturally, it doesn't go that way.

* * *

 Signing Xander out is relatively painless with Willow expediting the process. Less so the rousing game of sit and wait; she still has the rental car, but they need an escort back to the house. Strength in numbers. Except when Buffy arrives she's silent and cold, just wheels him out to the car, gets in the back seat and stares out the window the whole way.

 Principal Wood is on the porch when they pull up, engrossed in conversation with Faith. They fall silent as the Scoobies disembark, and the dark Slayer turns away when her twin stalks by.

 Willow can see over Buffy's shoulder as she opens the door, the roomful of Potentials waiting with their slapdash WELCOME HOME sign. The sound of Xander about to cry nearly breaks her heart all over again.

 "Oh, God."

 "We didn't have time to do more." Kennedy steps forward, holding out a welcoming hand, somehow managing a shaky smile. "You have to pretend there's a big party here."

 He sags heavily in Buffy's arms, allowing her to half-carry him over the threshold, where he's immediately surrounded by a swarm of Potentials. Robin gives Willow a curious look.

 "Not joining the festivities? I hear they've been planning for a whole twenty minutes."

 "You go ahead. I'll be right in." It feels weird, trying to outrank an adult authority figure without resorting to magic, but somehow it works; Wood just nods to them both, shooting a quick, inscrutable look at Faith before heading inside and shutting the door.

 Willow breathes deep and goes for neutral. "What about you?"

 Faith gazes out over the lawn, up at the stars. "You mean, how come I'm not helpin' raise the banner high?"

 "Something like that." She finds herself crossing her arms. "You know, he trusted you. To watch his back."

 "And look where it got him." Faith's bitterness is palpable, causing Willow to react immediately.

 "Yeah, and I'm trying to be nice to you, even if it's not taking _me_ any place special." She lets out a short, violent exhalation. "Sorry. What I meant was... I think he'd be glad to see you."

 Faith still isn't looking at her. "Guess somebody has to be."

 Willow takes a step forward as the Slayer turns toward the light. She freezes at the sight of fresh, ugly purple adorning the other woman's cheek.

 "What happened?"

 "Cops. Mostly." Faith grimaces as their eyes meet. "Plus, someone who just thinks she's a cop."

 "Buffy hit you?" She cringes at the adolescent squeak of her own voice, the by-product of incredulous questioning.

 "Don't worry. I'm not gonna kill her." The corners of Faith's mouth curve in a sarcastic smile. "Wanted to but didn't. By the way, bully for me, since no one else said it."

 "That's not right." Willow can feel her own lips threatening to compress and form a tight, humorless line. Another grand matriarchal tradition. "You guys shouldn't be fighting. Especially now."

 Faith shrugs. "It's what we do."

 "That doesn't make it right," Willow insists. "You have to say something, and if you don't --"

 "Not now, Red." Cold eyes bore into hers. "Drop it."

 Dropping it requires going against every ingrained instinct, every object lesson of her life. They've been avoiding enough problems already, and haven't they been down this road too many times before? But she takes a deep breath and smiles, nods agreement, so they can move on. So they can go inside and join the others. Figure out what to do.

 What they end up doing, is kicking Buffy out. It's not quite an insurgency and not quite Dawn exercising sole and despotic dominion over the household. What it is, is an absolute suckfest, and Willow hates herself the whole time even as she thinks that Buffy had it coming, has long since used up the last of her credit. She tries to tell herself it's for the best, that all her friend needs is a little time and distance like always. But it hurts so much to watch Buffy leave in near tears and Faith follow after, swearing that she didn't mean it to go down this way.

 Then the Slayer comes back alone, and she can't decide if that hurts more.

**

[[Chapter 6]](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/10195.html)


	6. frogfarm: Life During Wartime 6 - Touched

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fanfic](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/fanfic), [ftvs](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/ftvs)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Life During Wartime 6 - Touched** _

A longer chapter, with yet more canon dialogue, plus references to an off-camera scene that I didn't feel up to actually writing. Maybe I'm just fooling myself, but I think it's more effective that way, plus it keeps the action focused on Faith and Willow.

Also, finally up to the same timeframe as [the prequel, Maps](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/7226.html). If you read that, then this chapter might be a bit of a surprise. Hope it's the amusing kind rather than the annoying :)

_Touched_

 Things are rather quickly descending into near-complete chaos until Faith finally takes the helm to quell the rising hysteria, convincing them all to sleep on it; get a fresh start in the morning. Everyone's nodding in agreement and Willow's just starting to relax when the lights go out.

 Several screams and frightened moans echo in the darkness, just as quickly subsiding.

 "What happened?" Vi sounds as shook up as they all feel. Except Caridad, whose sarcasm isn't quite enough to hide the tremble in her own voice.

 "The lights went out?"

 "I'll get some candles." Amanda rises on unsteady feet, framed in dim light from the window. "If we have candles..."

 Kennedy joins her, offering a steadying hand. "I'll check the fuse box --"

 "Don't bother." Faith leans over the couch, pulls the curtain aside to reveal near-blackness outside. "All the lights on the whole street just went out."

 Caridad's trying to be brave. "Which means?"

 "That the people from the power company have got the hell outta Sunnydale." The dark Slayer draws the curtain shut, rising from the couch.

 "I think I'm freaking out --" Vi's cracking sentence ends in a tiny, airless squeak as a hand descends on her shoulder.

 "I said chill." Faith gives a brief squeeze of reassurance before releasing her. "Okay, same plan. Grab a buddy, don't split up. Check the kitchen first."

 Kennedy pulls Amanda toward the kitchen, and a wry note enters the Slayer's voice.

 "And try not to torch the place. Don't think any of us can exactly cover B's premiums."

 Wood chuckles. "On a principal's salary?"

 Faith looks him up and down like she can see in the dark. Willow knows that particular power isn't part of the Slayer package, even if it feels that way, though it doesn't make it any less effective.

 "Might be safer if you bunk here. Unless you're lookin' for another fight."

 "If you're sure you've got room..." Wood sounds more than a tad dubious, and Giles utters an indelicate cough.

 "Yes, well -- you'd be more than welcome to the recliner. Though I'm afraid we're a bit short on blankets."

 "Not givin' up that couch without a fight. Good man." Faith abruptly changes the subject. "Xander -- got your meds?"

 Her subject is still sitting on the couch next to Willow, and gives a brief start like even he forgot he was here. He fumbles at his shirt pocket, and they hear the rattle of pills in plastic.

 "One every eight hours. More, if I'm not drinking."

 "Want someone to hold 'em?" The Slayer's casual tone is at odds with her careful scrutiny. Willow sees momentary confusion, then understanding bloom on Xander's face.

 "Nah. It's okay. But thanks."

 Faith nods. "Holdin' you to it. And don't be afraid to ask for help with that bandage." He glances sharply at her but she's already turned away, her face illuminated by candlelight as Kennedy and Amanda return, holding their bounty aloft.

 "Cool. Get those handed out and we'll call it a night."

 Each Potential lights her candle as they receive it, trooping out of the room in solemn single file. Xander and Anya head for the stairs, shoulders nearly touching before they veer away from each other like frightened planets; Dawn follows, exuding disgruntlement since it's her floor Anya has staked a claim to. Giles is letting Wood talk him out of a blanket, only half-paying attention as he and Faith hold a murmured conversation.

 Willow makes a quiet escape before they attempt to include her, reaching the top of the stairs to find the hallway deserted and all doors shut. She manages to find her room without running into anything, half-falling on the bed and sinking into her pillow. Her poor head is a whirl of worry and rumination, the noisiest it's ever been, and first and foremost is the thought of Buffy aimlessly wandering the streets like a walking corpse.

 She lies there, clutching the pillow, until the door squeaks open to admit a circle of flickering light.

 "Hey." Faith sets the candle on the nightstand, frowning as Willow glances up. "Sorry. Didn't mean to interrupt a good darkness cursing."

 Willow manages a weak smile. "Too much effort. Anyway, right now -- my curses the worses." Faith winces along with her. "Um...yeah. That was pretty bad."

 The Slayer shrugs off her jacket and flannel, discarding them in a heap next to her makeshift bed. "Everybody deals their own way." She bends over to shuck her jeans, addding them to the pile.

 Willow feels her cheeks grow hot. She should have remembered something like this would happen and her eyes are not being drawn that way, she actually had a plan and now it's so much harder than it has to be --

 "Faith?"

 The other woman appears suspicious, but sounds cool as ever. "Yeah?"

 "Would you snuggle with me?"

 Apparently there isn't much of a bigger bombshell than that. Faith's jaw half-drops and hovers as she stands there.

 Willow rolls her eyes. "Well, _that's_ real encouraging."

 "I --" Faith has to clear her throat. "I don't cuddle."

 Willow nearly groans in frustration.

 "Look, I know you're anti-intimacy chick, but this isn't cuddling. This is -- snuggling."

 That gets just a hint of a double take. Faith sounds both skeptical and amused. "What's the difference?"

 "Well -- cuddling is generally considered to be, um...post-sex. And we don't need that, and I already know that's a humongous straight line so just don't." She takes a deep breath, fighting the rising blush. "I'm not asking for that. I just want --"

 "A hug?" The Slayer's voice turns cold and sarcastic. "Someone to hold you? Tell ya everything's gonna be okay?"

 The strain in Willow's voice can't hide her imminent tears. "Yes."

 "Oh." Faith looks completely taken aback. "Yeah, well -- there's this whole honesty policy I'm tryin' out, and..."

 An infinite moment ticks by and right as Willow feels the tear slide down her face Faith's crawling onto the bed, arms wrapping around her and holding her close. "Aw hell, you know I'm not goin' anywhere. Settle down, I gotcha..."

 She hugs tighter still, uttering a shaky laugh like she can't believe this is happening. Willow's sobs taper slowly to sniffles, eventually to strained silence and finally to cute snores at complete odds with her earlier grief.

 Faith just sits there, rocking her back and forth, staring into space.

* * *

 Cold first wakes her, blinking at moonlight through the window, brain fuzzy as her thoughts slip into gear. The memory surfaces of a warm body next to hers right before _whose_ body, and she's torn a few dozen ways until she hears the bedroom door creak open.

 Willow's toes twitch under the sheets. The door just shut but nothing's happening, which either means that Faith is standing there indecisively or it's actually some harbinger of evil taking a moment to gloat before it kills her in her sleep. Then there's warmth at her back and a body to match, faint whiff of tobacco under fresh scrubbed girl, and if this is a harbinger then by G-d bring on the bad.

 A low pitched whisper. "You awake?"

 "Yeah?" She rolls over to be instantly captured by those big brown eyes, followed by what she keeps forgetting, namely that plain white top serving as a scandalously short nightgown. _Eyes! Eyes up top!_

 "Um...what's up?"

 The Slayer pauses, deadpan.

 "You realize, Xander totally thinks we're doin' it."

 "Wha -- ooh!" Willow smacks her in the arm with one dainty fist, stifling a giggle. "That's it, missy. Back to the floor with you!"

 "As if," Faith snorts, burrowing into the blankets. "Bed this comfy, I'm through playin' martyr. Peanut gallery notwithstanding."

 Willow tries to look stern. "And you wouldn't have led him to that conclusion for some nefarious reason of your own?" She briefly reconsiders. "Not that guys need a reason."

 "Not hardly." Faith yawns and stretches. "His own fault for peekin' in here. Door musta woken me up."

 A pang of guilt is all it takes to kill the giggles. Faith doesn't appear overly concerned, but she has to ask. "Is he okay?"

  The Slayer grabs her pillow, giving it an unnecessary fluffing. "As he can be. Didn't want another pill."

 "What about his..." She can't bring herself to say it and Faith gives her That Look of impatient understanding.

 "Got the dressing changed. And yeah, it's as nasty as you think. But he's dealin'."

 Willow arches a brow of her own. "And probably staying warm with the nasty thoughts which you did nothing to disabuse him of?"

 "Not my problem most people don't exactly distinguish between cuddling and snuggling." Faith rolls on her side, putting her back to the other woman and effectively ending the discussion. "Don't worry, babe. Your reputation's safe with me."

* * *

 As it turns out, Willow's reputation isn't the one they should be concerned with.

 She thinks Faith's idea to kidnap a Bringer for interrogation is a fine one. It makes sense, attacking the opponent at their weakest point, and good old barometer Giles is cautiously in favor as well. Of the Potentials, only one doesn't seem satisfied.

 "I'm not sure this is such a good idea. Why try to get information when we already know about the seal?" Kennedy's already looking happier at the prospect of some action; hardly sensible in Willow's book, given the way the last round went. "Why don't we send a team to the high school, do some recon and then --"

 "No."

 Faith's flat pronouncement leaves her gaping and the rest of the girls trying not to edge away from them. Kennedy finds her voice, and it's as outraged as she looks.

 "Just like that? You're not even listening!"

 Willow tries to play peacemaker. "Ken, you're pushing too hard --"

 Kennedy angrily shrugs off the hand on her arm. "I thought things would be different now. But you keep shutting me down."

 Faith regards her junior coldly. "Things _are_ different."

 "Why? Because now _you've_ got her?"

 Everyone else flinches, but Faith doesn't bat an eye.

 "No. Because now _I'm_ your boss."

 She folds her arms and surveys the room. "Look -- I'm not Buffy. I'm not the one who's been on your asses all this time. But I'm not one of you anymore either. I'm your leader. Which means I go first and I make the rules, and the rest of you follow. Which means --" She turns back to Kennedy, eyes boring into the younger woman. "Back the hell off. And let me do my job."

* * *

 As it turns out, Kennedy's disgruntled minion performance ends up netting them one Bringer in relatively short order. Their victim's tongueless condition is unfortunate, not to mention gross, but Dawn's handy translation spell is enough to lift Willow's flagging spirits if not into the stratosphere, at least to sea level. She's mentally working on a list of ingredients, only half-noticing when Spike and Andrew return.

 Then Spike has to ask where Buffy is, and she has to pay attention.

 It doesn't go well, of course; everyone already knows the vampire will defend his love to the death, no matter the odds. When Faith steps in Willow already knows how it will go, can see his jaw tense and his fingers flex before he rears back and hits the dark Slayer with everything he's got. Naturally Faith sees it too, and the look in her eye tells Willow to stand back and pray.

 The damage is mostly collateral, largely to the remaining furniture, and Faith's just getting warmed up when Spike decides he's had enough and storms off in disgust, no doubt to follow his nose. Everyone spends a few awkward moments picking up the worst of the debris until Willow finishes assembling her spell ingredients. Once more, it's time to troop downstairs to the basement. Bad things always happen here.

 Luckily, this time they happen to Andrew. Willow even finds herself slightly glad they're not of a permanent nature, though she has to grit her teeth as they ascend the stairs once more, hearing him whimper for a lozenge. She's trying not to feel too cocky, but it's about time that a not-so-trivial spell has gone off without a single hitch.

 Maybe things are starting to turn.

* * *

 "Everything's goin' to shit, Giles."

 "So it would appear." He gazes at her over lowered glasses, map spread out on the table between them. "But now we have a location. And a plan."

 Faith stares down at the map. "Let's hope it doesn't turn out like the last one."

 He gives her a sharp look but she's already moving on. "Could come in from the south, but I don't want us boxed in. Sewer tunnel on the north side's closest, so -- guess we start there."

 Now she looks at him, like she's seeking approval. His voice betrays no hint of emotion.

 "Sounds fine. What time shall I tell everyone?"

 "How about around seven?" She squashes down the indecision, the questioning. "Seven sharp. So," she concludes, looking him in the eye. "Tomorrow we fight."

 He just nods. "Tomorrow. Goodnight."

 She looks back at the map, sure she's missed something, when he turns in the doorway. "Faith?"

 Nervous flares in her stomach, covered by old reflex. "Yeah?"

 For a second she almost thinks he's gonna smile. "You're doing just fine."

 She watches him go, a little bemused smile tugging at her lips. This mission only rates a cut above suicide in her book, but maybe she won't have to watch her back for the good guys. Maybe she'll surprise Andrew and replace his Hot Pocket when he isn't looking, or --

 "I'd say better than fine." Her teeth clench and almost take off the tip of her tongue. "In fact, I'd say you're doing a bang-up job."

 She finds her voice. "Get out."

 "Well, gosh!" That perfectly pleasant chuckle makes her look despite herself, and there he stands, hands casually tucked in his pockets like he never left.

 "I think a 'Hello' or a 'Nice to see you' might be a little more welcome? It's the end of humanity, Faith. Not the end of courtesy."

 "You're wastin' your time. I know who you are." She quickly corrects herself. "What you are."

 His smile broadens. "Nobody's explained to you how this works, have they?"

 "I know you look like him. Even got the funky aftershave." Her fingers pass through the apparition, and she allows herself a grim smile. "But you can't reach out and touch jack."

 "Indeed." Those twinkling eyes almost make her draw back from the pat on the head that's sure to follow. He circles around her on cat feet, leaving no trace in the carpet as that honey rich voice fills her ears. "You see -- I _am_ part of the First, as you kids call it. But I'm also me. Richard Wilkins the third. Late mayor, and founder, of Sunnydale..."

 And he _is,_ dammit, and that's what makes it so hard; nobody knows mind games like someone who's survived Angelus, but with Wilkins it was never a game. Her chest tightens and her muscles tremble as she jousts and banters, gives as good as she gets though she knows it's pointless, takes her inevitable lumps. All the while wishing he could just put his arm around her, and isn't it fucking tragic how this thing is playing on her every --

 "The truth is, nobody will ever love you." The perfect smile disappears, fades to something on the edge of sad. "Not the way I love you."

 Something twists in her gut and it's not the knife. "Get out."

 "They'll forever see you as a killer --"

 "I said get out." The pity in those eyes condemns him as an illusion and it's not enough to stop her nails wanting to dig into her palms. He just laughs that special laugh.

 "I'll always be with you, firecracker. In everything you do."

 The Cheshire smile disappears in a silent flash of light, her heart's going a mile a minute and when someone touches her shoulder she's already spun round, ready for the worst.

 "Jesus!" Her fist slowly lowers. "Shouldn't sneak up like that. Almost took your head off."

 "Sorry." Kennedy does appear uncommonly contrite. "I knocked."

 "Not exactly reassurin' me here." She struggles to keep her voice steady. "What'd you see?"

 "Just you, looking spooked." The Potential appears more than a little leary herself, not trying to sound like half the badass as before. "What happened?"

 "Why?" Her chin juts out in that stubborn, familiar sneer. "You lookin' to rap about my problems? Wanna play counselor now Buffy's gone?"

 Kennedy's voice is almost unrecognizable. "Actually, I was hoping you could help me."

 Her eyes squeeze shut in a futile effort to scrub her weary brain clean. "Sorry. I don't know what I'm doin'. I'm just..."

 Girl's all apologies. "No -- listen, I'll leave you alone. I didn't mean to intrude."

 She turns to leave and Faith opens her mouth, stops herself as she struggles for what to say and then just says it.

 "It was the First."

 Kennedy freezes in the doorway. As she slowly turns, Faith knows she was right to smell fear.

 "Guess you're in the game now." The younger woman stops a few paces inside, uncertain of her welcome, attempting a smile that can't touch her eyes. "The First doesn't show unless it thinks you matter."

 Faith sinks gratefully onto the edge of the bed, letting out a slow, shaky breath.

 "Lucky me. I'm a player." She holds up one trembling hand, a nervous chuckle escaping her lips. "Man, look at that. Demons, vamps...women behind bars...none of that freaks me out, but -- one round of touchy feely with the shrink from hell and I'm wavin' the white flag."

 Kennedy's eyes are dark and haunted. "That's what it does. Finds your Achilles heel."

 "Nah, it just talked to me." Faith frowns. "It does a heel thing too?"

 "It's a phrase." Kennedy can't help a shaky smile. "It means your weak spot."

 The Slayer nods. "School thing. I was kinda absent that decade."

 The younger woman stands a few feet away, hugging her arms about her chest as she looks around the room. "So who was it? The First."

 Faith ignores the lump in her throat. "He was...like, an old boss of mine."

 "A boss?" That warrants a blink of surprise. "Did he fire you?"

 She wants to smile and can't. "Nah. I know it sounds retarded, but...he was like a dad to me."

 "Oh."

 There's more in that syllable than meets the ear. Faith can feel her gears grinding, empathy muscles long-disused and abused until they've forgotten what a real workout's like.

 "Hey -- we should catch some Z's before the big throwdown. But you said you wanted my help, so...if there's anything you think I can do --"

 "It was Tara."

 Faith realizes what she's hearing even as Kennedy stumbles on, low and pained like she's driving every word through her flesh.

 "I only saw a picture of her once. Willow was going through some stuff, and I asked if that was her, and she got all --" The Potential lowers her voice once more. "She didn't want to talk about it. And I didn't want to push, so...we didn't talk about it." She looks up, faint anger in her eyes. "Ever."

 Faith isn't quite decided on whether this warrants a response when the girl continues. "So you're up here with Giles, and Willow's talking to Dawn about that spell. And I go out to the back porch --" Both hands come up to ward off the inevitable. "I know, it was stupid. Vamp could have got me, should have taken a buddy. I wasn't thinking. But I'm just trying not to feel too buzzed because, we finally _got_ somewhere, not much but it's _something_, right? And then --"

 She breaks off and utters a shaky laugh. "I think I did it."

 "Did what?" Faith's eyes narrow as she tries to parse this.

 "Summoned the First. Made it --" Her fist curls round a lock of hair. "Made it look like her."

 "What -- no. That's bullshit." Faith locks on, refusing to drop her gaze. "Like you said -- it just knows your weak spot. Hell, I knew it was a trick and I'm still pissed off."

 "But I wanted her there. I mean --" Kennedy begins to pace back and forth, a scowl twisting those delicate features. "It was like one of Anya's stupid wish stories. Because I'm sitting there thinking -- I should be happy, things are looking up. And all I can think is I wish _she_ was here." A shiver runs over her, and she swallows. "And then she was."

 "Damn." Faith shakes her head. She recognizes that look now; it's _shame_, raw and simple. "Look -- I didn't come here to replace anybody, and I already gave that speech. But like you said --" She holds Kennedy's eyes, trying to drive home the impact of her words. "It knows you matter. It's scared -- wants you weak. Wants us all at each other's throats."

 Kennedy nods. "I get that. Now."

 She turns to go, and Faith frowns again.

 "Thought you wanted my help."

 The girl doesn't turn around. "I think I got that too."

 She sits on the bed lost in thought for a long time until finally Willow shows up, already wearing pajamas and yawning to beat the band. It's adorable as can be and fills her with joy and fear, but Willow just falls into bed with a little grunt, half-asleep before her head hits the pillows. Faith shakes her head and smiles before rolling up in the bedding still scattered on the floor, and it's about as good as it gets.

 Until it all blows up in her face.

**

[[Chapter 7]](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/10501.html)


	7. frogfarm: Life During Wartime 7 - End of Days

_End of Days_

 She's sitting at the dinner table, Dawn and Andrew flanking her as she tries to choke down an apple and some tea, when there's this vague thump in the distance, like a car backfire. Andrew doesn't notice, engrossed as he is in denouncing Dawn for the heinous crime of expressing a liking for instant mashed potatoes ("No, not _all_ the time") but something prickles the back of Willow's neck and she's on her feet.

 Dawn halts in the middle of her defense and gives the witch her hairiest eyeball, until Willow reluctantly sits back down. It doesn't feel like nothing, but it's not enough something to make a deal of. It's what she tells herself over the growing itch at the base of her skull as Giles and Xander re-fortify their heavily boarded windows, Anya providing their minimum daily snark requirement; what she continues to insist as her stomach gnaws itself into ever smaller pieces, unable to put her finger on any concrete reason.

 Until the front door bursts open to girls covered in blood and dust, limping and carrying one another, voices raised in a panicky babble.

 Everyone rushes to help and the living room houses six wounded before Willow processes the fact that Buffy is _back_. But emotional awkwardness and triage are two of the un-mixiest things she knows, and there's really no time for awkward when treating severe blood loss.

 "The room upstairs is ready --" Buffy shepherds more girls through the front door, and _now_ Willow freezes because Faith's being carried in, unmoving. Giles is wheezing with effort and Xander puts his back into it, cradling the Slayer in his arms like something precious; watching behind him as they climb the stairs.

 "Careful!"

 "Just mind her head --"

 Amanda's frantic tones rise over them. "Is she okay? Is she gonna be okay?"

 "I'm sure she'll be fine." Kennedy, battered and bruised, casts a nervous look at Buffy. "Right?"

 "I'll be up in a second --" Buffy strides back into the living room, Kennedy following awkwardly in her wake.

 "You guys heal fast, right? You Slayers?"

 Willow notices through the distraction that the other girl isn't including herself in that group. Buffy's going through a bugout bag, and Kennedy looks ready to say something when Caridad interrupts.

 "What's with the axe thing?" The Potential's as banged up as the rest, but her curiosity is apparent despite the near-panic.

 Buffy holds it up before them with a look of grim pride. "Took it from Caleb. Might be important."

 "Let's hope!" Vi's sarcasm can't quite overcome her own fear. Amanda's voice is as timid as ever.

 "I think we got punished."

 "What?" Buffy stares at them, and Kennedy hangs her head.

 "We -- we followed her. And it was --"

 "It didn't work out." Vi's wearing her own resolve face, and Willow knows the other girl believes it in her heart. She's about ready to give up when Buffy speaks.

 "You guys -- it was a trap. It's not her fault. That could have just as easily happened to me."

 Such a little thing, to make everything suddenly better. Her heart leaps in her chest even as Caridad frowns.

 "So...are you, like -- back?"

 Buffy shakes her head as she stalks away. "I don't know."

 But Willow does.

* * *

 The various shocks eventually wear off, but hours later Faith is still out and all their research is getting them the traditional nowhere. Giles' insistence that Willow can divine the scythe's origin with magic is alternately reassuring and annoying, and she'd like to see him try it, even at her level. Holding this thing in her fragile hands, all she can feel is a power that makes the First Slayer look like a fumbling child, and he wants her to touch _that_ and remain whole?

 Smaller rituals, on the other hand, are quite doable.

 "You really think this will work?" Buffy's sitting in a chair by the side of her bed; Willow cross-legged on the bed beside an unconscious Faith, her own eyes likewise closed, upturned hands resting lightly on both knees.

 "Just keep the candles burning." The witch sounds relaxed but alert, breathing steadily as she sits with her head slightly bowed. Increasingly long hair falls about her shoulders in curling waves, almost as long as when they first met.

 "I need something to focus on. To keep from going too far out."

 Buffy sounds hesitant. "You mean like an anchor? I thought that had to be a person. You always had Tar-" A quick swallow. "Tara was your anchor."

 Willow doesn't flinch. "She was still all brain-sucked from Glory, when I did this for you. And I did just fine. Remember?"

 "I remember." She can practically hear Buffy's brain churn in an attempt to change the subject, see her friend's lip curl in that famous pout and that head tilt just _so_ as the Slayer stares down at her dark twin's bruised and sleeping face.

 "Geez. You'd think she'd be bored with this by now."

 Willow smiles without opening her eyes. "You don't mean that."

 An exasperated sigh. "I know, it's just -- I sort of made the decision to go all catatonic. I mean, it wasn't really a conscious decision, but it _was_ a decision. And Faith -- well, you don't exactly get a choice about being knocked _un_-conscious..."

 "I know." Did she say that? Buffy's voice is getting further and further away, and she has to fight to keep the Slayer's aura in focus, but it's already gone.

 Down the well before she knows what hit her, forever falling before it ends

 _in silent white light_

 Her vision clears to a dingy apartment with threadbare carpet, paint peeling from the walls.

 A dark-haired girl of about twelve leans over an ancient television, twisting its rabbit ears hard enough to pull them off, providing extra encouragement with her fist. She looks up with a frown of suspicion.

 "Who the hell are you?"

 Willow's cheer does't quite mask sarcasm. "Oh, won't _this_ be fun."

* * *

 "How long has she been out?" Dawn eyes the sleeping pair doubtfully, a single brow reaching for the sky. Buffy glares, receiving one of her own in return, but the teenager obliges by lowering her voice.

 "And shouldn't the rest of us get some warning when she's doing a spell? You know, so we can evacuate?"

 When Buffy's mouth flies open she looks ready to take her sister's head off until it closes again, fast enough to cause lockjaw. Dawn actually finds herself relenting. If high and mighty big sis can keep from losing _her_ head, it's up to her to be mature enough to return the favor. And she has to admit that part of her is just glad Buffy's back; and maybe scared to drive her away again.

 The Slayer's gaze falls on Willow, still in semi-lotus. "Giles wants her to use magic. To find out more about the scythe."

 "So you're saying we should just suck it up?" She cringes, not wanting to see the reaction. "Sorry. That came out --"

 "I know." Buffy's voice is haggard and weary, matching her appearance, and yet Dawn doesn't think her sister has ever been this _serene_. Still worried, obviously energized, but somehow...content.

 She very nearly makes a snide Spike comment, catching herself at the last second.

 "So you're saying...this axe thingy is important. And you'll do whatever it takes to find out what you need to know."

 Buffy looks over, expression just a little too neutral. "I'm saying yay to the former. The latter..." The resolve crumbles and for a moment she's a tired girl once more. "No. There are some things I can't do. No matter how much I might need to."

 "Well, that's good." Dawn reconsiders. "Unless you're gonna say that one of those things is live in this world, because then? I _will_ have to kill you."

 "Feelin' the sisterly love, here. Why did I ever leave?" But the Slayer's rough smile shines through, and Dawn basks in the glow.

 Until Faith utters a tremendous gasp, rising off the bed in a convulsive shudder. Buffy's hand lashes out to hold her down as Willow's head snaps back --

 A silent wave fills the room before Dawn can raise the alarm, vanishing before she can utter a shriek of protest. Willow sits up, clear-eyed and trembling, a thin stream of blood trickling down her lip as Buffy hovers uncertainly over them.

 Faith waves away the concern.

 "I'm good. Really." But neither woman misses the Look, and certainly not shaky Willow rising on unsteady feet and practically running out of the room. Faith seems not to notice at all, gazing up at them like nothing happened.

 "Heard you got somethin' for me to look at."

* * *

 Willow staggers back from the bathroom with an empty stomach, face red from cold water and tears. Outside the bedroom she stops, leaning against the wall as she tries to figure the next minute of her life.

 From inside, she hears Faith.

 "Damn. And...damn." All tension is gone from that voice, which sounds near post-coital. Of course, Faith's been known to make reading the phone book sound like sex. Or at least like phone sex. "That's somethin'."

 "I know." Buffy's own voice resonates with that knowledge too, with the sheer _power_ that neither of them fear in the least.

 "It's old." No fear; merely a respect bordering on awe that Willow would never have thought the other woman capable of. "It's strong, and it feels like..." She sees the Slayer in her mind's eye, holding the scythe with a love that leaves the mayor's knife a cheap and tarnished trinket by comparison. "Like it's mine."

 Willow stands there long enough for her vision to go a little gray around the edges. When Faith speaks again she sounds chastened, almost humble.

 "Guess that means it's yours."

 She turns and blindly walks away, leaving them to it, whatever it is. Of course it's a Slayer thing, but that goes without saying; more important that Faith has been waiting a damn long time for it, and Willow hasn't the right or the desire to intrude. Not after once again jumping at the opportunity to trespass on a person's most intimate domain.

 She should count herself lucky Faith doesn't kill her on sight.

* * *

 It's been some time since Buffy left -- from the look in her eye, probably to go find Spike -- but Faith hasn't moved, preferring to lay there contemplating the wallpaper in a state of pseudo-slumber. When the inevitable restlessness finally kicks in, she sits up in a huge stretch, trying to work out the lingering aches from the explosion. There are a great many things she doesn't yet want to think about, and they're just starting to come to a simmer when a knock rouses her from rumination.

 "Yeah?"

 The door opens and Kennedy's head pokes through, plastered with a smile of relief. "Damn. Good to see you up and moving."

 "You and me both." Faith's legs still want a second opinion, but she forces herself to stand. Kennedy eyes her with no little skepticism.

 "You sure you're okay?"

 "Not a hundred percent. Close enough." She kneels to check her bootlaces, grimacing at the tacky feel of denim too long unwashed. With her luck, the water's been turned off. "What's up?"

 "Andrew and Anya went to the hospital. To steal stuff."

 "Cool." She stands up, buttoning her jacket. "Buffy get any further with that axe? Scythe, whatever?"

 A dejected expression comes over the girl's face. "I don't think so. She was talking to Spike, but he took off, and when I turned around --"

 "She was gone," Faith finishes, with a roll of her eyes. "Xander?"

 "He was here a little while ago. Want me to find him?"

 Everything seems in working order, she decides. "Nah. Keep an eye on the wounded 'til those supplies get here. Lemme know if he shows up."

 Kennedy trails uncertainly behind. "Where are you going to be?"

 Faith doesn't turn around. "Havin' a private conversation."

* * *

 The door's open when she arrives, Willow sitting on the bed, knees drawn up to her chest. The witch looks up with watery eyes and opens her mouth, falling silent at the other woman's face before looking away.

 Faith just stands in the doorway, one thumb casually tucked in a belt loop. Willow swears she can feel those eyes burning into her, and it gives her the courage or stupidity to speak.

 "I'm sorry." The Slayer doesn't respond and she rushes on, unable to make eye contact. "I -- there was no excuse for that."

 "Really." Faith's voice is devoid of anger. "And that'd be, what -- the uninvited walk inside my head, or the part where you almost cut my throat?"

 She bows her head, unable or unwilling to find words. Faith saunters in, exuding nonchalance.

 "Nothin' I wouldn't expect. Least there weren't grenades."

 Her pulse twitches in her throat, but the Slayer's not done. "No harm, no foul. And maybe I coulda used the wakeup call. What I don't get is --" She stops, and Willow looks up to an expression more exasperated than angry.

 "Just what the _hell_ is your problem?"

 Willow blinks like she must have heard wrong. "Wh-what?"

 "You heard me." Faith folds both arms over her chest as she stares the witch down. "Y'know, for someone with such a huge brain, you can be awful dumb."

 Willow swipes one denim-clad arm across her face, stifling a sniffle. "Is this some comforting technique they teach in prison? 'Cause, not helping."

 "Not tryin' to help." Faith plops down on the square of blankets and pillows like she owns it, not looking away. It's almost a relief when she speaks.

 "You're really somethin', you know that? Big bad witch got everyone tiptoin' on eggshells, and the whole time you're too scared to float a goddamn pencil." She shakes her head in dismay. "You ask me, they should be worryin' more about the ghost and Mister Preacher."

 "It's dangerous." The words sound like sheer reflex. "I can't risk --"

 "What? Savin' the world?" A quiet snort. "And don't tell me you can't. You can destroy it, you can sure as hell save it."

 "Think you're missing the whole 'destroy' part." It comes out more bitter than it probably should and Willow cringes, seemingly expecting the worst.

 Faith just rolls her eyes.

 "Yeah, Angel gave that one a whirl. Wasn't doin' too bad until B took him down. But you know the difference?"

 Willow manages a tentative, humorless smile. "He wasn't all covered in icky black veins?"

 "Why you did it." Faith's jaw sets in that way that spells serious despite her casual tone. "Angel, he's a demon's demon. Bring on the apocalypse, don't forget the plagues and destruction, all that good stuff. He gets the urge, he don't need more reason than that. You? You _loved_ everyone too much to let 'em suffer. Wanted to put 'em out of their _misery_." She shakes her head again. "Oh yeah. You're the big bad, all right."

 "I was! I mean --" Willow grinds to a halt, utterly confounded. "You think it matters _why_ I killed someone? No matter how much I love them, they're still d--"

 Her lips clamp shut. Faith's gaze turns to stone.

 "Way I understand it, you killed two people the world ain't gonna miss. You want someone judgin' you, better get Xander in here, 'cause last I knew he's still the only non-_murderer_ you got. And I thought you already figured out the whole you not killin' Tara thing, but in case you didn't? Get over it."

 Willow nearly swallows her tongue as Faith continues on, relentless.

 "Yeah, skinless boy -- that was some hate. But his monkey helpers weren't responsible and you knew it. Hell, you woulda got bored chasing 'em even if B hadn't been keepin' you busy, and the world ending? Far as you were concerned, that was for everybody's own good." She allows herself a sarcastic smile. "Face it, Rosenberg. You're just a big ol' softy."

 "And you're not?" Willow's turned toward the wall again, voice muffled in her arms. Faith ignores the sulk.

 "You know what I am. Just like I know you." The Slayer's voice is tinged with resignation. "Which, by the way -- totally your fault. Coulda got the cheap seats like Angel, but no, you gotta go for the three hour tour. Right up there with that mind meld you guys did with Rasta Slayer."

 Startled eyes turn to her. "I was just --"

 "Me too. Big surprise, huh?" Faith eases back on the pile of pillows. "See, it's crap like this that makes me comaphobic. Be lucky I ever get a decent night's sleep again."

 Minutes tick by as Faith examines her eyelids. She's just about given up hope of any further conversation when Willow breaks the silence.

 "You spent Christmas with Buffy's mom?"

 Something in the incredulous tone makes Faith sit up. "Okay -- non sequitor, much? Where'd _that_ come from?"

 Willow shrugs, a dainty gesture all out of place with the jeans and flannel. From the way she's been dressing, she may as well have been raiding Faith's closet, which only serves to remind the Slayer she's still getting by with no more than the increasingly ripe clothes on her back.

 "You tell me." A quick, sidelong glance. "I guess I'm just having a hard time with the concept. How you could do that, and still --"

 "Right." Faith resumes her reclining position, leaving Willow to take in the spectacle or ignore it. "'Cause you always wondered if you were right when you gave me the big stand-up. About it bein' too late."

 Willow puts her head in her hands with a quiet sigh. "Don't mind me. Just taking notes for next time a spell backfires. Like I always do when a spell backfires..."

 "Geez, lighten up, willya?" Faith's fingers pinch the bridge of her nose, as if to massage away a headache. "It'll wear off. If it doesn't, we find a fix."

 Willow curls her lip in distaste. "Ah, yes. The time-honored tradition of licking my wounds and promising to do less magic. Or to 'exercise more control' over my magic. Or giving Dawn warning whenever I do magic within a mile of the _house_." She damn near chokes on the words, but Faith doesn't even look over.

 "Man. That coven suck out your sense of humor along with the self-esteem, or what?"

 Willow counts nearby mystical influences, getting to eight before responding. "You know what they did. Reminded me of...who I was. Who I wanted to be."

 "You think this is what she wanted for you?"

 Something shatters in Willow's insides. She wants to play dumb or explode, find some shred of outrage to hold onto. Instead she sits there 'til her leg goes numb and the fireworks in her head start to dim.

 "I always thought --" She clears her throat and tries again. "Maybe I was wrong. Maybe we didn't really give you a chance."

 "Well, you weren't." Faith's disbelieving snort echoes in the small room. "I'da killed any of you if you tried, just like Xander. I wasn't ready."

 "But you came back."

 A slight pause. "You mean I changed."

 Another pause to match it. "Decided to. Whatever."

 "No, not 'whatever'." Faith sits up again, looking and sounding exasperated. "I would have killed you because that was the only way I knew how to deal with anything. Got a problem? Slay it. End of discussion."

 "But what did Joyce ever do to you?" It comes out more plaintive than she means but gets Faith's full attention, which Willow abruptly remembers isn't always a good thing. The Slayer exhales noisily.

 "Nothing, okay? She treated me like a long-lost daughter and it didn't make a damn bit of difference. I was ready to gut her 'til B came crashin' in, and you wanna know _why?_" A note of disgust enters her voice. "Talk to the shrinks."

 "The motivation thing goes both ways, you know." Willow frowns. "I thought it mattered why."

 "Not to me." Faith gives a diffident shrug. "Like I told Wes when I had him tied to a chair -- never been much for navel-gazing. All I know is, if I screw up again, it's gonna be a whole new and exciting kinda screwup."

 A wry smile plays on her lips. "I fight every day like it's my last, and that ain't gonna change. So here I am, gettin' ready for an apocalypse, and all I can think about are two things. How come everybody's worried when we got a killer Wicca on the team...and when's she gonna get off her ass and kiss me?"

 Willow's too caught off balance to even think of a response except the blush creeping up her neck. Faith grins, rising to her feet.

 "See? Just like a real relationship." She stretches, jacket and shirt riding up, and Willow's blush deepens as her eyes are drawn to the little expanse of revealed tummy. The Slayer locates her cigarettes and heads for the door. "Gonna go check on the girls."

 Her poor, startled brain remains in a semi-gibbering state for a long time afterward, and eventually Willow falls asleep, still wearing her shoes and jacket. When she awakens it's almost evening again and she stumbles downstairs, joining Giles for tea and poring over research until Buffy finally returns to recount the bisecting of Caleb in gruesome detail. Suddenly the prospect of facing the First and its Ubervamp army seems just a little less suicidal; and yet even this seems inconsequential compared to waking up with her boots on the floor by the bed, finding herself tucked under the blanket. The mental image of Faith performing this simple act of kindness fuels her imagination with all manner of thoughts from mushy to lusty. Scary as they are, she just might be finding more reasons to survive the coming apocalypse.

 Now all she has to do is live through it.

**

[[Chapter 8 (conclusion)]](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/11226.html)


	8. frogfarm: Life During Wartime 8 - Chosen

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fanfic](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/fanfic), [ftvs](http://frogfarm.livejournal.com/tag/ftvs)  
  
---|---  
  
_ **Life During Wartime 8 - Chosen** _   
[Link to previous chapters](http://www.livejournal.com/tools/memories.bml?user=frogfarm&keyword=FtVS&filter=all)

Little bits of canon, mostly me. More last minute edits I'm quite pleased with. Thanks for being here, with me, at the end of all things.

(Things were supposed to go straight from here to the FtVS series, but there's a short in between that's begging to be written. We'll see if it begs hard enough.)

_Chosen_

 Noone pretends to be surprised when Buffy disappears into the basement, but for once gossip fails to materialize; the Potentials are too jazzed about the removal of Caleb from the picture, with even Amanda expressing a cautious optimism. The noise and excitement are a bit much for Willow, though, and Anya's still fussing over an increasingly embarrassed Xander when she wanders out of the kitchen.

 Faith's on the back porch, casually leaning on the banister like she should have a cigarette in one hand. Willow comes to a halt as she almost runs into Dawn, standing off to the side.

 "Sorry --"

 "No big." Dawn's gaze slides to Faith and away again.

 "Pint size here was tellin' me how she dropped Xander like a side of beef." Faith nods approvingly. "That's usin' your head."

 Willow's lips purse in a thoughtful frown. "The way I heard, it was more like using a taser?"

 Thankfully Dawn smiles, at least big enough to consider it one. Faith, on the other hand, turns serious.

 "You know he was just tryin' to help."

 "Pretty funny way to help," Dawn sniffs.

 Faith lets the attitude slide. "I know it had to be freaky, and I ain't sayin' don't fight back if someone messes with you. But he's already feelin' crappy enough. So cut him a break. Deal?"

 "I suppose." Dawn looks disgruntled, then brightens. "If he does it again, can I chain him up?"

 Faith chuckles. "Guess it runs in the family."

 "Please." Dawn rolls her eyes. "It's not so we can make hot monkey love in the basement or anything."

 "You sure?" A hint of tease in the Slayer's voice. "'Cause time was, you were all about the monkey with ol' Xander."

 The teen's eyes narrow. "Don't _make_ me drag out Mom's Christmas pictures."

 Faith holds up her hands with a grin of resignation and Dawn gathers as much dignity as she can muster, heading inside without a backward glance. Willow lets out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

 "Looks like you're off the craplist."

 "Little more personal with you," Faith shrugs. "I never threatened _her_. Just kicked big sister's ass."

 _Truth hurts,_ she thinks as she looks out over the town, or what she can see of it from the porch. Typical summer night, the sun just setting and not a cloud in the sky, yet it leaves her --

 "Cold?"

 She turns to find Faith wearing concerned-face. Still surprising, even after everything.

 "Sort of. It feels like --"

 "End of an era." The Slayer hauls herself to her feet. "Know what you mean. One way or another, this town ain't gonna make it."

 Willow tries to think of the full ramifications of _no more Sunnydale._ No more Bronze; no more sanctuary on Revello Drive. No more tree by the old high school where she carved Xander's initials and X'd them out again, giving the poor thing a permanent bald spot.

 "Do you think there's anyone left? Besides us?"

 Faith mulls this over as she looks to the sky.

 "I think anyone with any sense got out a long time ago." She claps Willow lightly on the shoulder. "C'mon. Let's go see what the general's got planned."

* * *

 "So." Buffy holds up the scythe, a hint of trepidation beneath her bravery. "Whaddya think?"

 The surviving Scoobies stare back: Willow, Xander and Dawn seated on the bed; Anya behind them, looking only slightly less stunned; Giles in the classic 'Thinker' pose, occupying the room's lone chair; Faith standing silent by the mirror across from Buffy, arms folded over her chest.

 "That depends." Xander raises a tentative hand. "Are you in any way _kidding?_"

 The blonde Slayer appears to be fighting the urge to fidget. "You don't think it's a good idea?"

 "It's pretty radical." Willow's engaging in doubtful lip-chewing, about to continue when Giles chimes in.

 "It's a lot more than that. Buffy, what you've said -- it flies in the face of everything we've ever -- of what every generation has done in the fight against evil." The Watcher pauses, and his weary face lights up like a Christmas tree. "I think it's bloody brilliant."

 Buffy's mouth curves in a shy smile. "You mean that?"

 "If you want my opinion." Giles sounds casual enough, whereas Willow's looking nervous enough to beat the band.

 "Not to poop on the party here, but -- _I'm_ the gal who's going to have to pull this thing off?"

 Buffy looks chastised, pulled back to earth. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't think you could do it."

 "It _is_ beaucoup d'mojo."

 Faith's first contribution to the discussion gets everyone's attention, and they all stare at her a moment. Giles is first to break the silence.

 "You have some concerns?"

 Buffy's hopeful expression fades at the look in her twin's eyes, and the dark Slayer shakes her head.

 "Not what you think, B. Not tryin' to tear you down here. And not sayin' I won't go along. Just --" She pulls her shoulders back, standing straighter under their combined gaze. "We don't have the right."

 Buffy looks as though she's been shot, and Faith hurries onward. "Maybe it ain't _exactly_ the same, but -- don't you feel like we're just doin' what the Shadow guys did? Except instead of one girl, we're talkin' about shovin' a piece of demon into _how_ many Potentials you were sayin', Giles?"

 "She's right," Anya interjects as the Watcher fumbles for his glasses. "I wasn't going to mention it, actually -- but I'm glad someone did," she finishes hastily, as Xander turns an incredulous eye upon her. "Please continue your lively debate."

 "And then what?" Faith isn't about to be derailed. "Our new full-time job is huntin' these girls down to say, hey, congratulations on the new superpowers -- oh, did we mention ugly monsters with teeth are gonna be huntin' you down, your cool new powers come from their great-billionth granddad, and am I the only one thinkin' -- there's gotta be at least one chick out there that's gonna make _me_ look well-adjusted?"

 Dawn looks a little sick, and Buffy quickly intervenes.

 "You're right. It's not the same thing." She looks round at them all once more, a note of pleading entering her voice. "And it might be the only way."

* * *

 The fear that this is where it all blows up again fails to materialize, but tensions are still running high as the group breaks up. Dawn's consigned to general research, grumbling as usual about being sheltered enough to have her own castle; Giles and Willow, off to talk to his contacts beyond the grave, leaving Xander and Anya the thankless task of rounding up Potentials for Buffy's speechifying. Faith can hear the other Slayer down the hall, pacing her room to psych herself up.

 She wanders downstairs during the actual speech, slipping around the corner before any of them notice. Apparently Buffy's going with the abridged version. Still, she finds her fist clenching as she listens in.

 _It's true. None of you have the power that Faith and I do. So here's the part where you make a choice..._

 _What about the rest, B, all over the planet? What kinda choice you givin' them?_ She wants to go out there and get right up in Buffy's face. Maybe yell a little.

 Instead she surveys the dwindling pile of snack cakes scattered about the counter, spoils of Andrew's daring midnight market raid. In the end she goes with an apple pie and a bruised but serviceable apple, feeling vaguely virtuous.

 She makes it back upstairs just as things are breaking up, and has to smile. Definitely wasn't expecting _that_ short.

 Also, not expecting Willow back already. The witch sits cross-legged on the bed, scythe laid out in front of her, unfocused eyes opening as she registers the Slayer's presence.

  Faith drops onto the floor pillows, limbs and hair everywhere. "Already done with the spirit talkin'?"

 "Oh --" Willow's confusion disappears, as she fully returns from wherever it was. "Giles only needed me for the initial spell. Besides, they were _his_ friends, and they were -- kinda cranky. He's trying to get something out of them now." She scowls down at the scythe. "While I try to get something out of _this_."

 Faith shrugs. "Lemme know if I can help."

 She kicks back and tears the wrapper open, giving a cautious sniff before diving in. Little stale, but --

 "You really want to help?"

 The words are strained, and she props herself up on one elbow. Willow hasn't moved, still staring at the ancient weapon.

 "In case it wasn't obvious?" She manages to mute the worst of the sarcasm. "Yeah. I wanna."

 "Then kill me." Willow glances up as if startled at her own words, hurrying before the Slayer can interrupt. "That didn't -- if something goes wrong. The darkest places I've ever been? This -- this is beyond that. And it's too important for me to screw up. But if I do --"

 Faith surveys her with a critical eye. "So you're sayin' I gotta treat you like Angel?"

 "Um --" Willow shudders at a brief, vivid image involving hair gel. "Sort of."

 The Slayer contemplates this a moment, and her mouth curls in a smirk.

 "Screw that."

 Willow's mouth opens in astonishment but Faith's already getting up, leveling a meaningful finger in her direction. "You even _think_ about goin' Darth Rosenberg on me, I'll kick your ass up and down this block like Buffy never could. And if you still don't wanna play nice, I'll drag it down to the high school and stuff it in the goddamn Hellmouth. If that's what it takes."

 Willow finally looks away, shoulders slumped in defeat. She almost doesn't notice when Faith sits down beside her.

 "World needs you, Red." The statement is implacable for all that it's less harsh; spoken as a simple fact. "I didn't let Angel get away with that crap. And I sure as hell ain't gonna let you."

 Willow reaches out a trembling hand to the scythe, pulling back before the metal can touch her skin.

 She looks up to dark eyes fixed on her, unblinking, before feeling the Slayer's hand in her own. She's about to say something -- always, about to say something -- but finds herself strangely paralyzed; utterly unable to move as Faith leans forward.

 Full lips brush hers and she jerks away, startled out of her reverie.

 "Wait!"

 Faith pulls back, equally annoyed and uncertain. Willow grabs the other woman's hand before she can withdraw.

 "This --" She sighs in exasperation. "This would be so much simpler if that spell was still active. Then we could just, you know -- read each other's minds?"

 A neutral look of understanding. "Easy way out."

 "What do you want from me?" Willow sounds very small and quiet.

 Faith's grin is charmingly lopsided. "After three years in prison, you gotta ask?"

 Her interrogator doesn't look away, and the smile vanishes.

 "I don't know -- I really don't, okay? Before Coma the sequel, sure, I was thinking about makin' a move. Who wouldn't?" A ghost of the grin emerges in response to the witch's blush before going serious once more. "Then you come wake me up, and you'd think the whole head trip would make it _less_ awkward -- y'know, get past the small talk. But --"

 Willow tries for a look of silent encouragement, and the Slayer only looks more uncomfortable.

 "I just...know my history, is all. After I get bouncy with someone, that's pretty much it."

 Willow raises an eyebrow. "That's bleak."

 A shrug of one shoulder. "Way of the world."

 "Well, that's good to know." Willow gives a knowing nod, innocent and free of guile. "'Cause for a second there, I thought it was just more defensive, isolationist Slayer crap."

 "And she comes out swingin'." Faith exhales and looks away. "Look. All I'm tryin' to say is...I've already been inside you, and vice with the versa. Got deeper than anyone, and I still don't think I could ever really _know_ you." When she looks back, it's like nothing Willow has seen.

 "But I wouldn't mind givin' it a shot."

 "You want to?" Willow sounds hopeful and afraid. "I mean -- in more than the Biblical sense?"

 "Wouldn't mind startin' there." One eyebrow lifts with devilish intent and the Slayer leans in, hot breath tickling the redhead's ear. "Or here..."

 Willow freezes, unable to articulate another _Wait_ or focus much thought at all. Faith pulls away with a look of frustration.

 "Aw, man." Frustration abruptly turns to dread. "This is gonna be a speech, isn't it?"

 "Short one," Willow hastily reassures her. "But -- for one thing, I still have to work on the scythe? I sort of know how this is supposed to go, but I'm probably gonna be up all night chanting over this thing -- trying to figure out how to interface with it. And --" She seems to come to a decision. "I don't want it to be like this."

 Faith's frown of suspicion borders on a pout. "Like what?"

 "Like it's our last night on earth? 'Eat, drink and be merry, for tomorrow we die'? That's too --" Willow struggles for a word. "Fatalistic. And I know, it doesn't _assume_ we're going to die, but -- I always thought it seemed to err a little too heavily on the side of the dying."

 "Uh-huh." The Slayer's face and voice betray no hint of emotion. "And if we don't?"

 "Um..." Willow lowers her gaze, squeezing the other woman's hand. "There could be hot monkey love. In, someplace other than a basement. And, um...without the monkeys?"

 Faith regards the increasingly blushing witch for a long moment before rolling her eyes with a chuckle.

 "Holdin' you to that, Red. We go down, I'm hauntin' your ass."

 Willow smiles behind her curtain of hair. "Is that what the kids are calling it these days?"

 "I'm serious." And the Slayer looks it. "You think I wanna wake up and find out everyone but me spent their last night gettin' some? Not on anyone's life."

 "It's not _going_ to be a last night." Willow bats her in the arm. "And I told you -- no pronouncements of doom." Even as the words leave her mouth, she's waiting for the _ah-ha_.

 Faith just looks down at the scythe.

 "So." She reaches out, bringing Willow's hand with hers; their combined grasp coming to rest on its handle.

 "How we gonna do this?"

* * *

 Faith prowls the principal's office, checking the hallway through the huge glass window and sparing an occasional glance back at Willow. The witch sits in the room's center, surrounded by totems and lit candles, as well as a hastily drawn circle. With the rest of the gang in place, it's up to her to guard their otherwise defenseless magic-user during the critical casting.

 She shakes her head. If she makes it out of here, Andrew's D and D manuals are _so_ toast.

 An unending stream of painful-sounding syllables spill from Willow's lips in a low, monotonous chant. Seems like it's been going for hours, though it can't be more than ten minutes since they set up. Her heart thumps like it's eager to leap from her chest, making it kind of hard to keep track; in fact all systems feel switched on overdrive, her senses thrumming at the combination of mass vampiric activity below and Willow-magic a few feet away.

 From the east comes the faint sound of breaking glass. Andrew and Anya's checkpoint, and why Giles put the two of _them_ together is anybody's guess. Right now, she wouldn't give even odds on either one coming through this. Xander and Dawn, well -- pipsqueak's no Slayer, or even a Potential, but she's picked up a few chops here and there. Giles and Wood, now there's a decent combo. Almost makes her feel sorry for the vamps.

 Her fingers rest lightly on the blade at her side, twitching at the thought of having to use it. Hardly seems fair, if it comes down to a fight; matching a knife against a friggin' axe over five times --

 A chill wind swirls through the room. She risks another look behind, and freezes in her tracks.

 Willow's unseeing eyes flutter open, black as night.

* * *

 It's like the world stops.

 Her first real spell, the first reensoulment of Angel, was an electric shock without pain. A stunning moment of clarity followed by a rush that left her drained and shaking, yet more alive than ever before; feeling herself as one element in a vast equation maintained by her will alone, more than body and soul held together by the most tenuous ties, had set her on the path to this moment. Every spell before and since an echo of pure intent, by accident or design.

 And it's going perfectly, despite her fears. From haphazard construction to esoteric composition, this is the most complex (un)making she's ever attempted, but there's no struggle or fear. Everything that makes her what she _is_, is in _her_, and the rest of the world, universe or whatever, just...isn't. She would say time itself stopped, except that seems to have vanished along with the rest.

 Faint smears flicker at the edges of awareness, the volcanic embers that are _Slayer_: Faith, standing at her side; Buffy a hundred feet below the earth. The thinnest of lines runs silver and ragged between them, a dense cloud surrounding Buffy and extending outward to a shimmering, fragile web.

 She blinks, and the web does as well, coming into bright relief. All she has to do is complete the circuit, let the power flow.

 She reaches out an ethereal hand, and the light trembles to be born.

 _Do you have the right?_

 She knows that voice. Her own doubt, her own hatred, her own blame --

 _Willow._

 And in that voice, the stillness is complete.

 _Tara --_ Her baby is _with_ her again, surrounding and filling her with a joy so profound she wants to weep. Her other half is complete in ways she never imagined; Buffy cried when they tore her from the heavens, and that's what it will be like when she leaves --

 _You can do this._

 Already the sensation is fading. Willow's nonexistent heart skips a beat as the encroaching darkness moves in.

 _How?_

 The answer comes simply.

 _Be the woman I love._

* * *

 The witch's hair streams in the wind that whips through the enclosed office, sending papers flying every which way. Faith's grip is sweaty on the knife as she moves forward, half in a daze. Dark tendrils curl from Willow's scalp, down each strand of hair, spreading veins across her skin --

 A silent flash splits the room in two. Blinding sunshine pours from Willow, washing away the darkness until she glows an unearthly pearlescent. Faith stands transfixed, knife forgotten, as light spills out into the room; threatening to overflow the building itself.

 Then the thunderclap catches up, and she staggers from its silent impact.

 Willow slumps forward, silver slowly draining from her hair. She lifts her head up on a now wobbly neck and the Slayer drops to one knee, grabbing her by the arm. Faith's jaw drops in astonishment as she surveys Willow, the witch's dopey grin slowly bringing one of her own.

 "You --" She shakes her head, like she barely has words.

 Willow sways back and forth, woozy from aftershock, gazing up at Faith, and out of nowhere she's grabbing the Slayer by the back of her head, pulling her in for a desperate, passionate kiss. Faith hesitates only the slightest second before responding vigorously, and there would be _hands_ but Willow pulls away.

 "Buffy!" She gropes blindly in front of her, pushing the scythe forward. "Get this to her --"

 She's already succumbing to gravity as the Slayer snatches up the weapon, on her feet and out of the office at near-vamp speed before Willow can blink. Toppling gently over on her side, she barely has enough presence of mind to roll with the fall, staring at nothing as she lays there gasping for breath. Echoes of the primal force for which she made herself the conduit flooding brain and body, every inch of skin on fire and it's nothing compared to the burn where Faith kissed her, cinnamon hot pepper cigarette. Her tongue creeps out and over her lips.

 Suddenly, she very much needs a drink.

* * *

 "Will!"

 She struggles to sit up. The shout was close, but the floor seems to be shaking under her feet. Then she realizes it really _is_ shaking, trying again to stand, and then Faith is in the doorway all bloody and wild-eyed and rarely has there been as beautiful a sight.

 Her legs are still wobbly, buckling beneath her as the Slayer hauls her over one shoulder. Feels so good to lean close, Willow has to remember the school's coming down around them, dawdling not really an option. Untold numbers of girls _now-Slayer_ flood through her, all warm fizz and sparkage.

 They emerge from the darkened building, and she blinks up at the sun. _It's so bright..._

 Smoke and shouting fill the air, as the town of Sunnydale falls.

 Faith manhandles her onto the waiting bus, turning around and running right back inside. Willow collapses into the nearest seat as Potentials swarm past, a flurry of color in her blurry vision; bearing each other despite numerous wounds.

 Another explosion rocks the air and she sits up in alarm, just in time to see Faith rocket out of the dust cloud and onto the waiting bus. Giles slams the door shut, desperately gunning the engine. She catches sight of Dawn, hands and nose pressed against the back window as they squeal out of the parking lot and down the street.

 The earth rumbles as it opens up beneath; Vi's screaming at Rona as the bus swerves to avoid something, and Willow's heart skips a beat. It would be so like Buffy, screwing everything up and dying again --

 A thud comes from the roof, drawing a shriek from one of the Potentials. The bus weaves, involuntarily this time, but Dawn's hollering _Buffy, it's Buffy!_ and they straighten as Giles puts on a fresh burst of speed. Trees and houses flash by, crumbling in their wake.

 _The end of an era_, she thinks as they hit the interstate, watching Lester's Mini-Golf disappear in the wake of destruction. Her teeth rattle in her skull when the bus hits a pothole but Willow barely notices; the shock of the spell is still fading, the faintest tingle in her flesh. Andrew's curled into a ball in the corner of his seat, quietly sobbing; Xander's face a stone mask as he holds onto a bleeding Wood, shielding the injured man from the worst of the bumps.

 Through the haze she can hear the deafening rumble reach a crescendo; holding its bass note for an infinite moment before losing momentum, beginning to fade. The bus slows as they reach the edge of the desert, finally coming to a stop just outside the city limits.

 The able-bodied pile out on shaky legs, a ragged crowd standing a few hundred yards from the pit that was Sunnydale. Buffy clambers down from the roof of the bus to stand closer than anyone to the crater's edge, sorrow and hope etched on her worn features as the others babble about slaying, Cleveland and shopping. Though not necessarily in that order.

 Dawn looks over at her silent sister. "What are we going to do now, Buffy?"

 Faith glances over her shoulder, an unreadable expression on her face. "Yeah, B. What _are_ we gonna do?"

 Willow can feel herself on the edge of the precipice, poised to leap. For a moment she stands there, surveying her old life.

 She steps forward, taking Faith's hand in hers.

 "I don't know about the rest of you," she murmurs as she gazes into the other woman's eyes. "But I know what _my_ plans are."

 Faith grins. "Hot monkey love?"

 Giles smothers a delicate cough, Andrew blinks, and Dawn lets out a squeak of amazement. Xander's the only one who doesn't look surprised. Buffy just looks on as they kiss.

 And smiles.

_You make me shiver  
I feel so tender  
We make a pretty good team._  
\- Talking Heads

-dj

[38 Chaos, YOLD 3172](http://yoyo.cc.monash.edu.au/~acb/norton/)


End file.
